The Seventh Year
by opheliarose
Summary: It's been seven years since Satine died, and Christian still mourns her...until a woman comes into his life, and makes his soul feel again. *WIP, updated 9/3*
1. Alyse

*please note: all characters you recognize are the creative genius of Baz Luhrmann and Craig Pearce. anyone you don't recognize is by me. reviews are welcome, and very much wanted, but please be kind--I know I'm not writing 'typical Christian' but there is a reason, and it becomes evident further on.*  
  
  
  
  
****************************************  
  
  
  
She stepped off the train in Paris. She carried only one suitcase, filled to overflowing with clothes & a lifetime of memories, and a handbag. Her dreams, she kept inside her head.  
  
Her name was Alyse, and she was 20 years old. The world teemed around her, but she just stood, soaking it all in. A pleased smile lit her face. This was what she'd been dreaming about for years. She was in Paris on a mission. To prove that she didn't need her parents--terribly modern of her in 1906. To prove she could make it in the world--dancing, singing, acting. She could do it all, and desperately wanted the chance to try. She was in Paris, specifically, because of one place--the Moulin Rouge.  
  
Oh, she'd heard the stories. The whores, the can-can, the men, the drinking. Only to herself could she admit that it was fascinating. Not that the club was like that anymore--it had all changed back in 1899, when Alyse was only 13.  
  
She knew this because she'd read his book.  
  
Alyse didn't know his name. It had been published under the name 'Anonymous', but the man in the book was called Christian. It had always been a mystery as to whether the writer was this wonderful Christian, but in her mind, she knew he was. Only someone who had lived the joy and pain depicted in the book could fully translate it into words. He'd been a penniless poet, who'd come to Paris--perhaps he'd stood on this very spot, on this very platform!--and Montmartre, in search of truth, beauty, freedom, and love. All ideals Alyse had secretly held dear since she had bought the book on the sly at age 15. How could she let her family, her friends, know that this book had altered the course of her life? She'd led a terribly sheltered life up until that book--the world it had exposed her to fascinated and drew her. How could she explain that it was why she was here, right now, in Paris? Everyone at home would think her even more mad than they already did. Certainly, her parents were waiting anxiously for word from her that she had failed at her big adventure--'you'll only end up wasting your life away, dancing in whorehouses and catering to old men!' they had told her. So sure of her failure they were, they had sent her on with enough money to last her two months. Because, she told herself wryly, they expected her back in two weeks, with a sheepish grin on her face as she accepted 'darling, I told you so' and was pushed back under, into their world of stifling propriety.  
  
She stiffened her spine as people brushed by her. Well, there was no way she was going to fail. And if, God forbid, she did, she'd never let them know. Now that she was free, she was never going back under their thumbs. She would make it in Paris, and if not, there were other cities, other places--a whole world of opportunity!  
  
Alyse slipped her fingers into her handbag and felt the comforting security of her book. Old, dog eared, with worn pages, she'd read it over and over again. She felt like she imagined this Christian had upon first seeing Paris. Overwhelmed, excited, searching for a bright future. It always put a hitch in her throat to think how his time had turned out. The love of his life, ripped from him, just as they'd been able to truly declare their love. She hoped her time in Paris was better. She knew it would be. She was determined to make it, to see her name in lights, to be the name on the tip of everyone's tongue.  
  
As she stepped off the platform, out of the train station and into the city streets, she wondered if he was still here. Somewhere in Paris, nursing a broken heart? Writing poems and love stories? Perhaps he was still at the Moulin Rouge! No, no, she thought, scolding herself. Why would he stay at the scene of his heartbreak?  
  
Her stomach rumbled, putting an end to her musings. Food, she thought, and set out to find a café. 


	2. Christian

Christian sat at a table outside of a bustling café. His hands were wrapped around a cup of coffee; a half eaten baguette sat on a plate next to the cup. His mind swirled as he thought over the conversation he'd just had.  
  
Somehow, Zidler had located him. He couldn't imagine how, as he'd thought he'd lost himself pretty well in the mess that was called Paris. Never writing under his real name, never coming into the Moulin Rouge. His only downfall was probably that he still spoke to Toulouse, and still lived in that same damned building. He supposed it shouldn't have surprised him.  
  
"We need you back, boy," Zidler had said in his gravelly voice.  
  
Christian had stared at him. "I'm hardly a boy anymore, Harold," he'd said.  
  
Zidler had flushed. "Yes, yes, well, of course, you're right…Christian." His rouged cheeks had blushed prettily as he folded his hands on the table. "We need you at the Moulin Rouge."  
  
"You know I can't…" Christian had stopped, taken a deep breath. "I don't want to be there again."  
  
"It's been 7 years, Christian. Satine wouldn't…"  
  
Christian had leaned forward abruptly and stared Zidler in the eyes. "Don't you dare…" he hissed. "Don't you dare speak her name to me. Don't dare to tell me what she would or would not want. You never knew her, not the way I did. If you had, you wouldn't have forced her to live that life. She's…she was better than that. Better than you."  
  
Zidler had sat back. "Yes, well, perhaps you are right. She deserved better than the Moulin Rouge." He had paused. "You made her happy, and I never thanked you for that."  
  
"You have no need to."  
  
"I do." Zidler had tapped his fingers nervously on the table. "You loved her, like no man ever had. For that short time, she was happy."  
  
"Yes, well…" Christian had fumbled for words, feeling himself tumbling back in time, and finally gave up. "Do you…do you have a script?"  
  
Zidler had met his eyes. "You'll come back?"  
  
"I'll look at your script. I'll see if I can do anything. I can't promise you anything more."  
  
"Thank you!" Zidler had beamed, reaching into a large bag he carried and rummaging around. "Now, where…ahh yes, here it is…" He pulled out a large sheaf of papers. "Now, what else do you need to know?…oh, yes, well, we start auditions tomorrow morning." He'd looked up sheepishly.  
  
"Tomorrow?" Christian had echoed, staring at the stack in his hands. "You want me to fix this by tomorrow?"  
  
"Well, yes, well, see what you can do with it!" Zidler had stood up, slapped Christian robustly on the back, hitched up his bright suspenders. "Eight thirty, my boy!" And strolled off jauntily, his hat tipped atop his head.  
  
That was how Christian had found himself sitting with the coffee that he desperately wished was something stronger, and the script next to it. What was he thinking, agreeing to write for the Moulin Rouge again? Did he have a death wish? Just looking at the windmill made his gut clench, his heart trip…how could he walk in there, look at the stage, the people, and not remember her? Darling Satine….with her flame hair, her lovely face, and core of courage…he'd loved her so much. 'Come what may…I will love you, until my dying day…' How could he have known his words would come true, so quickly?  
  
He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he'd given his word, and didn't want to break it. Not even to Harold Zidler. The man had, after all, given him his first break--writing 'Spectacular, Spectacular'--which had led to Satine…and in the end the man had come through, taking care of the Duke at the performance…the day it all ended…  
  
Christian shook his head, chasing away the past. He took a sip of coffee, now cold, sighed again as he picked up the first few pages of the script. 'Untitled,' he read to himself, and groaned this time. Great. He'd probably have to write the whole damned play over if it went on like this.  
  
And it did. By the fifth page he was squirming uncomfortably in his chair. God, but somebody had no talent whatsoever! He was scribbling like mad with the fat pencil that never left his pocket when he happened to glance up.  
  
The girl had just stepped outside from the café. She balanced a cup and saucer, a croissant, a handbag and a suitcase. She didn't look harried, though. She just stood there, looking around, a smile on her face.  
  
The writer in him noticed the details. If she was 5'2" and 105 pounds soaking wet, he'd be entirely shocked. Petite was the best word for her. She was dressed in a long dress, fairly classy and modestly cut, but a bright blue colour that set off wide eyes of the same colour. Her hair was half pinned up, half hanging down her back to her waist in a riot of white-blonde curls that she had clearly tried to tame. Her skin was porcelain clear and at the moment, lightly flushed. She had an aura of grace to her that he rarely saw in someone so young as her--because he could certainly tell she was young.  
  
The man in him saw an extraordinarily beautiful woman--and it surprised him to notice, because he hadn't noticed a woman's beauty in such a long time. Not since Satine had left him.  
  
*Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place...*  
  
He shook his head to clear out the song, and looked back to the pages in his hand. He made himself focus on them, but suddenly his mind was not on his work. He tapped the pencil on the paper, then stilled as a shadow stopped over his table…the sound of skirts whispered in his ear.  
  
"Would you mind terribly if I sat here?" 


	3. The First Meeting

The man stared up at Alyse as if he hadn't understood her. She waited patiently, being a girl of good breeding and manners, and took the few moments to study him. Classically handsome, she thought. Black hair, a little long, lay tousled over his forehead, as if his hands had just raked through it. Striking green eyes, penetrating ones, ones she thought might be able to see straight into a person's soul if they wanted to. A strong face, with a few little moles that only added to the overall dashing look. Even without the papers at his fingertips, she'd have guessed him a writer. He had a soulful face, a few lines etched into it, a testament of time, and perhaps emotion. There was something in his eyes…a bitterness, a sadness. She sensed it in him; she didn't know how, and didn't have time to ponder it, because he finally spoke.  
  
"No, no, I don't mind, please, sit down." Christian gestured vaguely toward the chair and stood as she moved for it.  
  
"Thank you," Alyse said, noting the automatic way in which he displayed his manners. He must have had good breeding, as well, she decided, and with a very unladylike plop, landed in her chair, her suitcase hitting the ground. She managed to keep the cup and saucer from upending, but just barely. He reached out a hand to steady them for her, and she smiled at him.  
  
Christian felt like he'd been punched in the gut. It was no pleasant sensation. The sun haloed her hair as she sat, and made him just slightly dizzy. For a moment he sought something to say, but gave up and looked back down at the script in his hands. And discovered he'd suddenly forgotten how to read. He clenched the pencil in his fist and tried to relax. She was just a woman. A girl, for God's sake. Nothing to lose his mind over. He had to work on this script. He was all prepared to make his excuses and leave the table when she spoke.  
  
"It's certainly busy here, isn't it?"  
  
He glanced at her. She noted he looked a little flustered, a lot annoyed. He took a moment to answer. "Yes, it's that time of day."  
  
She sipped her tea, cringed. "I'm sorry if I'm bothering you. There were just no other tables available and my hands were full--"  
  
"Yes, well, don't worry on it." He ran his hands through his hair, missed her little smile, hidden behind her cup. She took a delicate bite of her croissant as he tapped his pencil on the stack of papers. Before she could think, the question slipped out--why, she didn't know, as she was sure of the answer. She couldn't stand the silence, she supposed. "You're a writer?"  
  
Talkative thing, Christian thought, and resigned himself to a little polite chitchat. "Yes, I'm a writer," he replied, pointedly turning a page and pretending to read it. Maybe she'd get the picture and save him from the small talk. The sooner she finished, the sooner she would leave, and the sooner his heart rate would return to normal.  
  
Alyse looked at him. Yes, he was definitely a writer, she thought again. A brooding quality emanated from him that she'd only felt around other writers. She'd just never felt someone's presence quite as much as his. It literally wrapped around her, making her stomach do strange flips. She sought a distraction--anything to keep from looking into his eyes again, to avoid speaking, since she sensed that his writing was an off-limits topic. She reached into her handbag, pulled out her book. She propped it on the table and began to read.  
  
It took Christian a moment to realize she was actually going to be quiet. He'd been immersed in looking like he was studying his papers, and finally peeked over at her. She was reading. Hell, had he been that boring, or rather, that rude? He was about to make an apology to her when he caught the title of her book. MY book, he thought, and spoke suddenly. "What--what are you reading?"  
  
She looked up, surprised. His tone had startled her. Pained, strained. "This? It's one of my favorites," she explained, closing it and offering it. "Would you like to look at it?"  
  
He stared at the book as if it might bite. His hand itched to touch it, but it took him a moment to decide. After what seemed like ages to both of them, he tentatively reached for it. His fingers closed around the binding, and he pulled it closer to him. "Yes, thank you."  
  
He opened it slowly. The dedication--'For Satine'--the first words--"The Moulin Rouge…a nightclub…a dance hall…" He stared blindly for a moment as memories rushed around him. Seeing her for the first time…singing to her in the elephant…fighting over silly love songs…their hidden love…the Duke, and the Moulin Rouge…and her terrible sickness. The one thing that really was able to tear them apart.  
  
He closed the book abruptly, handed it back to Alyse. "Um, thank you. I'd heard a lot about that book."  
  
"You've never read it?" she asked. When he shook his head, she sighed. "This book changed my life. I feel like I can say that here," she confided, leaning forward slightly, her face animated. "I don't know why. I feel like you could understand. Like anyone here could understand."  
  
Oh, he could understand. The experience certainly had changed him. He wondered sometimes where that boy was, the one that he'd been in that book.  
  
Christian cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but I have lots of work to get done tonight, and I really must be going…"  
  
"Oh, yes, well, don't stay on my account!" she exclaimed, as she finished her last bite. "I was about to leave myself. I need to find someplace to stay. I'm new to Paris."  
  
He gathered up his papers and stuffed them under his arm. Suddenly anxious to leave, he turned to her. "Well, then, good luck here." He started to move off, but was stopped by her voice.  
  
"Would…would you happen to know anywhere that I could stay?"  
  
He turned and stared at her.  
  
She lost a little nerve under his gaze, but figured, she'd already asked, she might as well see if she could get an answer. "Yes, well, I don't know much about the city, and I just got in, and I'd hoped that maybe you knew a place that I could find a room." It all came out in a rush, as he continued to stare at her, and her heart was beating crazily. His eyes…she thought if he didn't stop, she might swoon at his feet. She started to fidget with her handbag, and tried to break eye contact, but she just couldn't look away.  
  
Finally, thankfully, Christian blinked, and the spell was broken. "Yes. Yes, I imagine I know somewhere you could stay," he said with a sigh. "Come on with me, then."  
  
As he didn't seem inclined to wait very long for her, she hurriedly stuffed her book into her bag and grabbed up her suitcase. "Thank you," she said breathlessly, hurrying after him.  
  
"It's no trouble, really," he replied, glancing back as she scurried behind him. He bit back an oath as he realized he should be a gentleman and ease her struggles. "Here, let me," he said, reaching for her case.  
  
"Oh, well--" Alyse began, but he had pulled it from her hands and juggled round his papers before she could protest. "Well, thank you again."  
  
Christian nodded. They walked on in silence, past buildings and shops, people and the bustle of life. After a few moments, he spoke. "You're terribly trusting."  
  
She looked over at him as they stopped to cross a street. "Pardon me?"  
  
"I said you're very trusting. You're putting an awful lot of faith in me, that I'm taking you somewhere safe, instead of dragging you off down a side street to murder you." The instant the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could pull them back. What was he thinking--trying to scare the girl on purpose? He was a mean bastard, after all!  
  
Alyse stared at him for one moment before bursting into laughter. "Oh, my," she giggled. "Truly, you're terrifying me, sir."  
  
"Well, you shouldn't trust people so easily," he said stiffly, as they began to cross the street. "You never know what kind of person you'll meet here."  
  
"Somehow I think you're trustworthy," she said softly, glancing up at him. And then her eyes widened as she peered past him. "Ohh! Is that--is that the Moulin Rouge?"  
  
He turned instinctively and looked in the direction she was staring. And felt his heart stutter for a moment. It took him a minute to find his breath, and then he answered, "Yes. It is."  
  
Alyse stared, enraptured. How grand it was! Everything she'd ever pictured! She didn't notice the look on his face, the white knuckles around her suitcase. "I'm going to work there someday," she murmured, mostly to herself, but he turned quickly to her.  
  
"What?"  
  
Startled, she glanced up at him. His face was composed, she thought. Tight. She chose her words carefully, feeling as though she had stepped onto rocky ground. "I said I'm going to work there someday. It's been my dream, for years."  
  
He took a moment, then still spoke too harshly. "You know what it used to be."  
  
"Yes, of course. Who doesn't? But that's in the past, isn't it?"  
  
The past, he thought. It was never very far. Sometimes only a fingertip away. "It is. Come on, let's get you your room." He turned and walked a short ways down the street, away from the Moulin Rouge. He strode up to a building. It was no fancy place, and although some repairs had been done to the exterior, it was still the same building Christian had been living in when he meet the bohemians whom had pulled him into their world. Sometimes, he thought he could still see the outline of the hole in the ceiling where the Argentinean had fallen through, even though it had long been patched up.  
  
He pushed open the door and motioned Alyse through, then followed her in. He knocked on the first door they came to, and after a few moments, the old woman opened it. He quickly explained the situation--for he'd never liked her, with her sour lemon face and her curt words--and she nodded. "I'll need some money," she said to Alyse.  
  
"Oh, yes, of course," she said, fumbling with her bag. The woman named an amount and Alyse nodded, extracting the money and handing it over. In return, she received a key.  
  
The woman eyed Christian. "You can take her up, can't you, boy? You're going that way as it is, and I don't do so well on the stairs anymore."  
  
"Yes, ma'am, and thank you." He nodded and moved quickly out of the woman's room.  
  
They started up the stairs, him still holding the suitcase. "She's not a very nice one, is she?" Alyse commented quietly as they ascended the steps.  
  
"Never really has been," Christian replied.  
  
"You live here, then, too?"  
  
"Yes. In fact," he stopped walking as he reached the floor they needed. "We're apparently going to be neighbors. This one is yours--" he pointed to her door, "and this one is mine."  
  
She glanced at him briefly before opening her door. The room wasn't much--a bed, a dresser, a few pegs on the wall, a wash basin, a window--but she knew she could find some ways to brighten it up. He set her suitcase by her feet, and she turned. "Thank you for your help. It was very kind of you."  
  
It made him uncomfortable. "You're welcome," he muttered. He was about to turn and escape to his room when she held out a dainty hand to shake his, as part of the thanks. Reflex had him taking it before he could think.  
  
Electric sensations shot up his arm when her skin touched his.  
  
She felt the jolt, could see it in his eyes. And she could see right after that it bothered him. She quickly withdrew her hand from his warm grasp and stepped back. "Perhaps we'll see each other sometime. Thank you again," she said, and turned to go into her room.  
  
She'd almost shut the door when she heard him say quietly, almost angrily, "Wait!" She pulled the door open and looked at him. "Yes?"  
  
What was he doing? She'd almost gone in the room, she'd have been out of his life, he could have gotten his head back where it belonged. "I never--you never told me your name."  
  
"Oh." she smiled brilliantly. "I'm Alyse."  
  
"Christian." He answered.  
  
Just like in the book, she thought. But pushed the thought away.  
  
He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, shoved his hands into his pockets. "You say you want to work at the Moulin Rouge."  
  
She stared at him quizzically. "Yes, I said that. I do."  
  
He took a deep breath and willed himself to not open his mouth even as the words were spilling out. "I understand they're auditioning for a new play tomorrow morning. Eight thirty." With that he turned, opened his door, and stepped inside.  
  
She stared at his door for a moment, then stepped into her room, hugging her arms around her. Auditions at the Moulin Rouge. Tomorrow! She would go, she decided. She twirled around the room for a minute, suddenly full of anticipation. Tomorrow would be a new beginning for her… 


	4. The Play

__

*note: I decided against trying to write Toulouse's accent, for fear of mangling it completely. Hopefully anyone reading this can make it up in their heads.*

**********************************

Christian had been up the better part of the night, writing the play. Not re-writing, but completely starting over. It had been such a ridiculous mess that he'd never been able to finish reading ten pages. He'd stayed up too late, smoked too many cigarettes, and drank too much absinthe, but he'd pounded out two-thirds of a play. He hoped Zidler would be pleased enough with that for now. He'd fallen asleep at three-thirty, and had awoken abruptly at seven to clattering from Toulouse's place upstairs. Bleary eyed, he rose from bed, cleaned up, and changed his clothes. Typical writer garb--black trousers with suspenders, white shirt, and a vest. He threw a coat on, since Paris mornings were a little chilly at this hour, gathered up the pile of papers next to his typewriter, doffed his hat, and stepped out of the room.

As he headed for the stairs, he glanced at his new neighbor's door. He wondered if she would show up today, then he wondered why he cared. He _didn't_ care, he reminded himself, and bounded down the stairs.

He stepped into a bright, sunny world, bustling with activity. A normal day for all of these people. He moved across the street, stopped. The windmill turned above his head, mocking him. He hadn't been here in seven years. Not since…

__

I believe you were expecting me.

Yes…yes.

You're going to be bad for business, I can tell…

Tell our story, Christian…I'll always be with you…

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to block out her voice. He summoned courage from somewhere, opened his eyes, and strode toward the doors.

It never ceased to amaze him how lucky Harold Zidler had been to get back the deeds to the Moulin Rouge, after the fiasco with the Duke. But who could have predicted the Duke would have fallen madly in love with a young woman, whose parents didn't approve of him essentially owning the nightclub? As Toulouse had told the story to Christian, the girl's parents had been so distraught that the Duke had been involved with such a place that they insisted he _give_ back the deeds--"There is no reason whatsoever to make money off of such a place!"--and the Duke, desperate to marry his lady love, and her money, had handed the club back over to Zidler, no questions asked. In the year the Moulin Rouge had been closed, it had fallen into disrepair. But Zidler was crafty, and had sought out new investors who had helped turn the Moulin Rouge around. Now it was the theater he'd always dreamed of--only without his Sparrow.

Christian pushed open the doors and walked into the theater. It looked basically the same as it had last he'd seen it--seats up and down the sides, the aisle up the middle, the stage straight ahead. It was more finished looking now. He started up the aisle, trying not to remember the last time he'd walked towards the stage.

"Christian, my boy!" Zidler shouted from the orchestra pit. Christian suppressed a sigh as the boisterous man climbed out and motioned him over. "What's that you have there, hmm?"

Christian handed over the script. "It's not finished yet, but it's the best I could do last night."

Zidler grinned at him. "If it's anything like any of your other works of art, it will be magnificent, stupendous!"

"Yes, well…" Christian repressed the urge to roll his eyes. After all these years, the man hadn't changed a bit. Overdramatic, a flair for the bold. He supposed that was what made him so good at what he did.

A shout from the stage turned Christian's head. He smiled. "Hello, Toulouse."

Toulouse ran down the steps to Christian and Zidler, his ever-present bottle of absinthe clutched tightly in his hands. "You're here! You're really here! Zidler said you would be, but I told him, I said, Christian won't be showing up here! But here you are!"

Christian laughed. "Yes, here I am."

"You said you'd never come back!"

"Well…things change," Christian said uncomfortably, taking off his hat and resting it on one of the seats.

"So, my boy," Zidler said, sitting down. "Why don't you tell us about this marvelous play you've written?"

Christian nodded. "Yes. Well. It's about love."

Zidler smiled. "Could it possibly be about anything else?" He winked.

Toulouse gave a laugh, and a few others gathered around to hear the writer tell about his play.

"There's a young woman, a beautiful young woman. She has dreams of being a star, a famous actress, a singer, a dancer. She comes to the city to follow her dreams, as she's heard of a major dance company that is putting on a play, singing, acting, everything she's terribly good at. Meanwhile, she's found herself madly in love from afar with a man, a musician, who has written songs that she's loved. She doesn't even know him, but she knows he's the one for her. She knows he's from that same city, and sets out to find him, as well as her dreams." Christian paused for a breath, and to gather his thoughts. As he'd sat at his typewriter last night, a pleasant haze from the absinthe surrounding him, he'd thought of that girl from the cafe--Alyse--and the ideas had flowed from his brain to his fingertips to the paper. "The man she's in love with, he's been burnt by love before, and he refuses to allow himself to feel anything again. They continually cross paths--walk past each other on the street, eat in the same cafes. He sees her, but she never sees him. He falls in love with the woman, too, but won't allow himself confess his feelings for fear of another loss." He began to pace in front of the others, pulling out his cigarettes and absently lighting one as he spoke.

"Meanwhile, there is another man. A good man, a loving man, a wealthy man. He has fallen in love with the girl as well, and while she is fond of him, her feelings are nothing like the ones she feels for the musician. She tries to love him, but is unable to feel anything more for him than friendship. However, she agrees to marry him, because she knows she'll never find her musician, and doesn't want to live her life alone, without family, without children." He stopped and looked at Zidler. "That's as much as I've written so far. I've yet to work out the ending…"

"Bravo, bravo!" shouted Toulouse, and the Argentinean next to him nodded. "The boy still has talent!"

"Splendid, fantastic!" exclaimed Zidler, jumping up and pounding Christian on the back. "You've still got the knack, my boy!"

Christian coughed and took a last drag from his cigarette. "Thank you," he managed, short of breath from the beating from Zidler.

The man smiled, and his voice boomed throughout the room. "We've got our play! We've got our writer back! And now, it's time to find the actors!" With a wave of his arm, he skipped off down the aisle, where Christian could see a group of people, presumably there to audition, beyond the open doors, waiting admittance to the Moulin Rouge.

"Christian, Christian…" called Toulouse. "Zidler's brought the typewriter down, in case you wanted to work on the play some more…"

"Thanks, Toulouse," Christian replied, moving over to the little table off to the side of the stage. A typewriter, a stack of paper, and a few pencils sat on the table, with a chair scooted up to it. He laid his coat across the back of his chair and sat down. He rolled a sheet of paper into the machine, and then sat, staring at it. The hairs on the back of his neck had suddenly started to prickle. Must be a chill in here, he thought, and ignored it. Words came into his mind, and he quickly got to work, pecking at the keys as Zidler pranced about the stage, calling out to the crowd of people lined up to audition. Christian finished a sentence and looked up, amused, as Zidler made some outlandish statement about the Moulin Rouge, and the play, and whoever won the roles would be fabulously famous and spectacularly well known once they starred in the play. His eyes swept over the crowd briefly, noting all types of people--old women, young men, and everything in between.

Then his eyes landed on pale blonde hair, and the prickles came up again on his neck.

She'd come. She was here to audition.


	5. Revelations

Alyse was in a state of awe. As she'd gotten ready for the audition that morning, it hadn't quite sunk into her, where she was going, what she was about to do. She'd just gotten ready, toiled over picking out a dress to wear, finally settling on blue once again, as it was a good colour on her and brought out her eyes. She'd fussed with her hair, unsure as to what to do with the mess of it. Growing up, she'd been taught by her parents, "a proper lady has long hair but wears it up." She'd grown so sick of piling it all on her head at home that she decided for the audition, she'd leave it all down. It spilled down her back in a blazing blonde shower that she tried, without luck, to calm a bit. Her hair never wanted to do what _she_ wanted it to do, and she gave up, resolving herself to leaving the curls the way they were. She'd put on a bit of makeup, inspected herself in the small mirror, and decided she was fit to leave the room. She'd found her handbag, stepped out of the room, glanced across the hall at her neighbor's, walked down the steps, and out of the building.

And stood still for a few moments, unable to move.

There towered the Moulin Rouge, in all of its glory. She wasn't imagining, she wasn't dreaming--she was really standing across the street from the Moulin Rouge. For the last few years of her life, all Alyse had dreamed about was coming here, becoming famous, lighting up the stage. And here she was, about to cross the street and walk into that theatre, and attempt to win a role in a play there.

What on _earth_ was she thinking?

Fear shot through her, strong and pure, and she stepped backwards a bit, intending to turn around and go back inside her apartment and forget she'd ever thought about auditioning at the Moulin Rouge. She made it about 6 steps before she heard a voice in her mind.

__

You don't really want to prove your family right, do you?

She kept walking and shook her head, trying to ignore that niggling voice of her conscience.

__

If you don't cross that street and go inside, and at least try, you'll hate yourself forever.

Alyse had almost reached the door of the building, but those words made her stop. She'd heard people talk before, of having their conscience speak to them, but this was mad! Would her conscience really taunt her like this? She put a hand to her temple and thought. Well, her conscience had a good point. Yesterday, she'd been so determined to prove herself, to show that she could make it. And here she was, with a golden opportunity, and she was ready to pass it up, because--because she was scared? She shook her head at herself again. Well, that is just silly, she thought. If I want to be an actress, I have to be able to handle rejection, and I have to be willing to _try_…or else I _will_ hate myself. And there's no way, she thought fiercely, that I am going to leave here without trying for my dream. She squared her shoulders, stepped away from the building and crossed the street.

She entered the Moulin Rouge, trying her very hardest to not look as amazed as she felt. It was extravagant--bold colors, beautiful artwork--everything she'd ever imagined. And there was quite a line of people waiting to audition. Not too many, she hoped, that she wouldn't get her chance. They didn't have to wait very long before Harold Zidler came out to collect the group of aspiring stars, drawing gasps and giggles. He began talking--shouting, rather--and pulling them inside to the theatre itself, instructing everyone to take seats and they would start. Alyse sat down next to two girls about her age, and now here she was, watching with rapt attention as Zidler explained a bit about the play.

"It's not quite finished yet, but I guarantee it will be a smashing, wonderful, exhilarating story! This show will make its stars fabulously famous and spectacularly well known!" he bellowed in a jovial voice. "Our writer here has quite the talent and I assure you all it will be fantastic!" Just as Zidler turned to motion towards the writer, Alyse felt the burning of eyes on her. She turned her head, along with the rest of the crowd, to see where Zidler was pointing.

"Our writer! He's written for us before--some of you may remember 'Spectacular, Spectacular'--" the crowd stirred a little as those old enough to recall murmured their recollections, and something inside of Alyse began to flutter. "--well, he's come back to the Moulin Rouge, and aren't we so lucky to have him writing this play! Christian, stand up, my boy!"

Everything went fuzzy for an instant for Alyse, as she watched the writer rise up out of his chair, briefly, and nod his head at the crowd of people. It was _him_, she thought dizzily, as his green eyes met hers and he sat back down. The one she'd met yesterday, the one who lived across the hallway. He was the writer of this play...he was the writer of 'Spectacular, Spectacular'...that meant...

__

He's Christian. The Christian from the book. The Christian who wrote the book.


	6. The Audition

__

*Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement!! Sorry it's taken so long to get the next parts up, ff.net has been acting up and I haven't been able to upload. Hope you all enjoy!*

**********************************

Christian saw the recognition light in her eyes, as surprise flicked through, and then he looked away, not wanting to look into her eyes any longer.  
  
She sat back in her seat as he faced his typewriter again, and began picking out letters. The world righted itself in her mind, and she tried to think it through logically. She wondered why he hadn't told her yesterday who he was, especially considering she had his book. He'd looked at it. She made a mental note that, if she got the chance, she would ask him. But for now…  
  
Zidler went down the rows, calling each woman one by one to come up on the stage. Each had to act a part from a script he handed them, sing and dance. It was going very quickly, Alyse felt, because before she knew it, she was being motioned to the stage.  
  
Once on the stage, she was nervous and exhilarated, all in one. It passed in a blur as she acted out a scene with Zidler, then sang a song accompanied by piano--she recognized the name Satie from _Christian's_ book--then danced across the stage with a handsome Argentinean. She was breathless by the time she was through, and desperate to sit down to calm her shaking knees, but instead of sending her back to her seat like the others, Zidler clapped broadly and motioned for her to stay on the stage. He gathered a few people and moved over to the writer's table, and she stood waiting on the stage, trying not to wring her hands as the little conference ensued.  
  
Christian glanced up in time to see Zidler swooping down the steps of the stage towards him, with Toulouse, Satie, and the Argentinean in tow. They descended upon him quickly and he suddenly felt very claustrophobic as they stood around him. He looked at them questioningly.  
  
"She's the one, isn't she?" Zidler hissed exuberantly.  
  
"What?" Christian said, confused.  
  
"For the part, my boy, for Julia! She's perfect for the part, yes?" Zidler gestured to the stage, and Alyse, standing there in the middle of it, looking as if she was going to burst apart at the seams of nervousness and trying desperately to hide the fact.  
  
"It's as if it was written for her!" Satie said in his usual stage whisper.  
  
Christian looked at him sharply, then back to Alyse. She was a beautiful girl. She would play the part well--she would become Julia. It made sense, seeing as he'd written it with her in mind…  
  
He froze inside. It hadn't occurred to him last night, as he sat at his typewriter, with a vision in his mind of how he wanted Julia to be and how he wanted her to look, that he'd been thinking of his new neighbor. Perhaps because he'd been a little drunk, he hadn't seen the similarities. But now, now that he was clear-headed, looking at her in the light of day, and listening to the babble around him, he noticed it. Even not knowing if she'd show up to audition, he'd written the role for her.  
  
"Christian?" Zidler's voice came through his thoughts.  
  
"I'm sorry, what did you say?" He prayed no one else would notice the resemblance, prayed they would only think that it was pure luck that he'd written a role so perfectly suited for the lovely blonde girl on the stage.  
  
"What do you think?"  
  
"Um...I'm sorry, I don't see...why do you need my opinion?" Christian fumbled for words, his mind still jumbled.  
  
Zidler's laugh boomed. "Why, because you're the writer, of course! You would know better than anyone if she could take this role and make it her own. I think she'd be stupendous!" The others chorused their agreements.  
  
"She sings like an angel!" Toulouse crowed.  
  
"And dances with the heart of a can-can girl!" the Argentinean growled in his low voice.  
  
Once again Christian looked at Alyse. She still stood there, very still, and if one didn't look close enough at her, they wouldn't notice how scared she looked. But he did. As he watched her, she glanced over at him, and gave him a small smile. _You're the only person I recognize here,_ it seemed to say. He smiled back, briefly, and turned to Zidler.  
  
"I think she would be a perfect Julia."  
  
Zidler clapped. "Splendid!" He shook Christian's hand--for what reason, he had no idea--and turned to go back to the stage, but suddenly stopped. "What was her name again?" he demanded in, what for him, was a quiet voice.  
  
The others shook their heads. "I don't think she said it--" Toulouse began.  
  
"Alyse," Christian murmured, glancing at her once again, and then back to the men in front of him as they turned on him and stared. He cleared his throat. "Her name is Alyse." Still the staring, and he hastened to explain, "She lives in my building. We...we met yesterday."  
  
"Ahh, well, very good then!" Zidler exclaimed, and all but skipped back up the stage, where, to the disappointment of the other women in the audience, he announced that they had found their leading lady. "Not to worry, chick-peas, there are plenty of other parts in this play!" he crowed, and moved back into the crowd.  
  
Alyse was left standing on the stage, her heart pounding. She didn't know if she'd heard him right. He'd touched her arm, he'd mentioned her by name, but she wasn't quite sure she wasn't just imagining things. The Argentinean she'd danced with came up to her and kissed her hand. "Congratulations, lovely lady," he said, and she blushed.  
  
"I'm--he actually said I have the role?" She stumbled over her words.  
  
Satie called up from the orchestra pit. "It's as though it was tailor made for you! There was no chance for anyone else!"  
  
She glanced down at him and he smiled at her. "Welcome to the Moulin Rouge!"


	7. I Lived It

The two men walked away and still Alyse stood there, not sure what to do. This was a first for her. And Zidler had run off with the rest of the people who'd come for the audition--who knew where they'd gone, when he'd be back? The noise of a typewriter interrupted her thoughts, and she looked over to where Christian sat, staring intently at the paper in front of him. She walked towards him.  
  
He knew she was there without having to look up. "Congratulations," he said, concentrating on a sentence.  
  
"Thank you," she murmured. "I don't--I don't really believe that this just happened."  
  
He glanced up. She looked overwhelmed, and despite himself, he felt a tiny crack open in the walls around his heart. "It's a lot to handle all at once, isn't it?" he asked, setting back in his chair and turning towards her.  
  
She nodded. "Yes." She blew out a breath and stopped in front of his table. "I came here expecting nothing, hoping for some sort of background role. And I have a 15 minute audition, and I get--" her voice trailed off, and her arms lifted up, encompassing the building, then fell back to her sides. "I get all of _this_. How did this happen?"  
  
Christian looked at her for a moment, sorting out his words. He lit a cigarette as he thought, and when the right words came, he inhaled and then said, "Zidler has a knack for seeing talent. He may seem callous and loud, but he's very shrewd. It's all about business for him. He knows a talented unknown will draw in the crowds, and that a beautiful, talented unknown will draw even more. It doesn't hurt that you have a wonderful singing voice, you kept up with the Argentinean's dancing--" which was certainly no small feat, he thought, as the Argentinean moved like a mad man, "--and it hardly appeared you were acting in the scene you had with Zidler, but more became the part."  
  
Alyse blushed again. "Well, thank you, that's very kind..."  
  
"It's true. I don't--I don't think anyone else could play Julia. You seem very right for the role." He held his breath a moment, praying once again that someone wouldn't make the connection between the girl in the play and the girl in front of him.  
  
She nodded. She looked at him. He looked at her. She twisted her hands in front of her and then finally the words burst out before she could stop them. "Yesterday...why didn't you tell me who you were?"  
  
The crack in Christian's heart snicked shut like a door slamming. He ground out his cigarette and looked away from her. "I didn't think it was relevant."  
  
"But...I was sitting there, with your book, telling you how much it inspired me..."  
  
He shook his head. "Very few people know I wrote that book. I wasn't about to go telling a stranger just because she was reading it in a cafe."  
  
She stared at him, and he pointedly avoided her eyes, picking up pages off of his table and flipping through them. When she spoke again, her voice was tight. "You lied."  
  
"Pardon me?" He still didn't look up.  
  
"When you said you hadn't read the book. You lied."  
  
He looked up at this statement. She didn't think he was going to answer, and she thought she would die of mortification, but then he coughed a little and said, "No, I didn't lie."  
  
Alyse stared at him again, and then blurted, "But--how is that possible? You wrote it!"  
  
Christian met her eyes, and for a moment she saw everything--the bleakness, the pain, the sadness in his soul. Her heart ached for him.  
  
"Exactly," he said softly. "I wrote it. I _lived_ it." He sat for another moment, then abruptly gathered his papers together. "Excuse me, I have to..." He didn't even finish the sentence, just walked away quickly. Alyse suddenly felt incredibly guilty for even mentioning the book. She kept standing there, not sure what she was supposed to do, when a voice at her side made her start.  
  
"His heart isn't whole yet."  
  
She turned towards the voice, and then looked down. "I'm sorry?" she said to Toulouse.  
  
"I couldn't help overhearing your conversation, I hope it doesn't bother you. I just wanted you to know that he still hasn't healed. His heart isn't whole." The little man spoke in a thick accent, but she had no trouble understanding.  
  
She sighed. "I didn't mean to upset him. I just--we met yesterday and I had his book, and he never said anything about it...and then to come here today and find out..."  
  
Toulouse nodded and took a drink from his bottle. "This is the first time he's been here since Satine died."  
  
She turned to face him, shock clearly etched on her face. "What?"  
  
"He hasn't been back since the opening of 'Spectacular, Spectacular'. When she died in his arms." Toulouse sniffled a little. "He swore to me, he said, Toulouse, I'll never go back, not for anything. I don't know what changed his mind, but this was his first day."  
  
Alyse's heart broke a little more for Christian. Here it was, the first time he'd been back to the place where the love of his life died, and she had to pound him over the head with memories. "Thank you for telling me," she said to Toulouse.  
  
He smiled. "I live upstairs, you know," he said, motioning in the vague direction of the building across the street. "You should come up to one of my parties sometime."  
  
"I will," she promised. Toulouse strolled off just as Zidler came bustling back into the grand room. "There you are, darling!" he called to Alyse, and motioned her along. "You must come with me, we have much to discuss!"  



	8. Theatre Business

Later that night, Christian sat in his garret, trying to work on the play. But his mind was a blank. He kept thinking back on his conversation with Alyse, and he could only come to one conclusion--he'd been quite rude to her. When conversation had shifted to something he hadn't wanted to talk about, he'd just walked away. That was no way to handle things. He was just going to have to be more careful how he dealt with the subject from now on. Because he was certain this wouldn't be the last time someone spoke to him about his past.  
  
About Satine.  
  
He sighed and pushed back his chair to walk to the window. He leaned against the frame and looked across the street. Lit up brightly against the night sky loomed the Moulin Rouge, and next to it, Satine's elephant. And it was still hers. When Zidler had been given back the deeds to the theatre, he'd had the elephant restored to its former glory--but he hadn't allowed anyone to use it, or live in it, and nobody questioned his decision. It was quite evident, without words, why he did it.  
  
Christian usually made a point not to look in that direction anymore. But tonight, he stared at the elephant, wondering if he'd be able to see the ghosts of two young lovers courting each other through song.  
  
He shook his head. "I try not to think about what might have been," he sang to himself, holding onto the frame. "'Cause that was then, and we have taken different roads. We can't go back again, there's no use giving in. And there's no way to know what might have been..."  
  
On another sigh, Christian turned from the window and returned to his typewriter. Pretty words, he thought, that didn't mean a thing. It was hard to not wonder.  
  
Pushing his melancholy thoughts aside, he focused on his work. The stars were bright in the night sky before he slipped into his bed.  
  
  


******

  
  
  
Alyse awoke the next morning to butterflies in her stomach. She looked around her room as she lay in the bed. The sun shown in through the windows, brightening the place a bit. Absently, she made a mental note to buy some flowers while she was out later on.  
  
She still couldn't quite believe what had happened to her yesterday. It all felt like a dream--yet she knew it wasn't, because she was to go into today for fittings and "other theatre business," as Zidler had put it. It was so unreal, winning a part in a play at the Moulin Rouge, written by the man who'd unwittingly guided her destiny.  
  
_Christian_. The butterflies turned into a swarm as his face came to her mind. He was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen. She giggled at her silliness and pulled her blanket over her head. It wouldn't do her any good to moon over the writer, especially when he was clearly off limits. She cringed as she recalled the disastrous discussion of yesterday. She made another mental note--to apologize to him if she found the chance. And put aside this hero worship crush, she told herself sternly. She had to be professional.  
  
An hour later she was entering the Moulin Rouge. She pushed a few stray hairs back from her face and looked around as she walked into the theatre. On the stage stood Harold Zidler, making a speech much like yesterday's to a new group of people. Unsure what to do, she stood for a moment, and fortunately he noticed her quickly.  
  
"Oh, my little peach!" he cried, scrambling off the stage and bustling down the aisle to her. "Come, come!" He pulled her up onto the stage and introduced her to the crowd, who made appropriate noises.  
  
Christian looked up from his perch on the back of one of the theatre chairs. The poor girl was getting that overwhelmed look again, he thought as he flicked ashes from his cigarette into a tray. He tapped his feet on the seat of the chair in time to the rumbles from the orchestra pit as he mulled over the situation. He saw one of the ever-present stage hands heading backstage, and called out to him quietly. "Would you find Marie and send her out to take Miss Alyse for her fittings?" he asked the boy, who nodded and sprinted backstage. He turned back to the stage where Zidler had apparently forgotten Alyse was there for a reason, and was gesturing madly toward the crowd, explaining how the male leads had very, terribly important jobs in this play, and therefore the actors had to be very, terribly talented. Christian rolled his eyes. He wondered how long Zidler would go on and leave Alyse to stand there next to him. Fortunately, Marie hurried out onto the stage just then, and in a flurry of words, ushered Alyse to the back.  
  
The next few hours were a blur to Alyse. She was poked, prodded, turned, measured, squeezed into corsets and dresses and hats. Her hair was teased, combed, twisted and, amazingly, tamed. She stood in front of mirrors. She stood in front of people. She'd never felt so bared to the world in her life as she did as she stood in a corset and was measured by Marie and another girl. They exclaimed over her youthful figure, her creamy skin, her glorious hair. "You were made for the stage, love!" Marie cooed as she spun Alyse to look at herself in the mirror.  
  
She didn't hardly recognize the reflection. For starters, her hair was straight. She vaguely remembered one of them saying something about how it wouldn't stay that way, but they needed an idea of how it would look. She ran a hand down her hair. No curls! Somehow they'd fit her into a gorgeous, wispy creation of a dress. It was light blue and gauzy, strapless and all straight lines, save for the edges of the skirt, which swirled around her feet. They'd created cleavage, Lord knew how--probably the corset, she thought dazedly--and she could hardly get past that fact. "I'm, uhh…" she began, gesturing toward her chest.  
  
"Don't worry, love, it'll all stay there," Marie assured her, grabbing her hand. "Let's go show everyone how gorgeous you are!"  
  
"Oh, oh, no, I couldn't possibly have anyone see me like this…" Alyse shook her head, but Marie was surprisingly strong and pulled her out into the hallway in the direction of the stage. "People are going to see you like this every night when you're performing, so you'd better get used to it!" she said cheerfully, and burst out onto the stage with Alyse in tow. "Where's Harold run off to?" she called.  
  
Christian paid her no mind. He was immersed in his typing, trying to finish up this play as soon as possible so rehearsals could start properly soon. But when he heard oohing and ahhing from the direction of the stage, he pried his eyes from the typewriter for an instant. And saw why every man in the theatre had their eyes riveted to the stage.  
  
Alyse stood there, with Marie gesturing madly next to her. Her hair was straight. He noticed that right away. It fell past her waist now, shiny and long. The dress…he swallowed around a sudden tightness in his throat and realized to his embarrassment that his hands were sweaty. He mentally shook himself. Just because she was gorgeous, with a tiny waist and was wearing a dress that made her look like some kind of exotic angel was no reason to go getting himself into a state. He wouldn't allow it. _Couldn't_ allow it.  
  
It was hard to push back the little creeping feeling of jealousy that tore into his gut when the Argentinean spun her around in circles, though.  
  
She laughed, and as she stopped spinning, spotted Christian, sitting alone at his typewriter. He was watching her, and her insides turned fluttery again. The chatter around her receded for an instant, and all she saw was him, all she heard was her heart pounding. Then Toulouse cried, "We _must_ find Harold!! He must see this beautiful creature!!" Marie clucked her tongue and told Alyse to wait right there and not move a muscle, and the little group took off looking for Zidler.  
  
She stood there, all right. Christian didn't think she was even breathing for a minute, then she gave a little sigh. She was trying so hard to look calm, he thought. But he could see her hand shake as she reached up to touch her hair. He made a decision in a flash. He knew what it felt like to be new here, to feel out of place, to be overwhelmed. Clearly she needed a friend. He could be that for her. He admitted to himself that he wanted to know her better. He could be that honest. But all he could offer her, all he could offer anyone, was friendship. He didn't have the capacity for love anymore. But friendship…you couldn't get too hurt being someone's friend, not like you could by loving them. As long as he didn't get _too_ close to her, he was sure this could work out. He nodded to himself, pleased with his plan. He unfolded himself from his chair and walked towards the stage.  


  
  
---------------------

[lyrics:

What Might Have Been-Little Texas]


	9. Absinthe

Alyse watched him as he came closer. He had a cigarette between his lips--was he _ever_ without one? She wondered--and his hat was perched rakishly atop his head, giving him a distinctly bohemian look. He stopped at the edge of the stage, right below her, and looked up.

Christian took the cigarette from his mouth and asked, "Do you smoke?"

She looked at him, confused, and said, "Umm…"

He held his cigarette out to her, and she took it doubtfully. He kept his eyes on hers as she held it to her lips and inhaled delicately, then proceeded to cough indelicately. He laughed as she held it back out to him. "I'll take that as a no," he said, and stubbed it out in the tray he'd brought over with him.

"No--I mean, yes, that means no." Alyse said, and realized it made little sense, but she was still coughing and couldn't be bothered.

"You all right?"

She nodded and straightened a bit. "Yes," she said with a last cough, then added, "At least now I know why I've never tried them before."

Christian grinned, and she felt a little pinch in her chest. She was fairly sure it wasn't from the smoke still burning her lungs. "They take a little getting used to, but I imagine since you're going to be singing, you might want to stay away from them."

"Right." she nodded. "Good idea."

They stood for a moment in silence, and then she let out a sigh. "I feel like a life size doll," she said without thinking, and then grimaced when she realized she'd spoken aloud.

But he took her words seriously. He looked her over, and then he said, "Well, you look like one."

Alyse glanced at him, startled. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult," she said.

"It's a compliment," Christian said, then laughed. "Mostly."

She laughed with him, somewhat surprised at this humorous side of him, especially after the mess yesterday. Which reminded her…she fidgeted with the skirt of her dress as she worked up the courage to say what she wanted to say. Finally, she just blurted it out. "Christian, I'd like to apologize for yesterday, for what I said to you. I had no business…it was very inappropriate for me to say what I did, and I'm very sorry."

He was shaking his head before she'd even finished. "No, no, I owe you an apology. I didn't handle it well, and I was unkind to you. You've no need to apologize to me."

She nodded. "Well, all right, if you say so…"

"I _do_ say so," Christian said firmly, and then he smiled again. "But I do accept the apology that you didn't need to offer."

Alyse giggled. "And I accept yours," she replied. She met his smile with one of her own, and felt something click inside of her. She couldn't figure out what it was, and she didn't have time to think on it, because she heard Zidler's voice coming towards them. She quickly straightened up, as she'd started to relax while speaking to Christian, and clasped her hands in front of her. She had to get over this nervousness, she knew she did, but for right now, it was difficult. Then she looked down at Christian, and he gave her an encouraging smile. Some of the tension melted away.

"Oh, my peach!" Zidler cried when he saw her, as he climbed up the steps to the stage. "Oh, how magnificent! Marie, isn't she magnificent! Christian, look at her!" Marie murmured her agreement, rolling her eyes a bit at Alyse, and Zidler turned expectantly to Christian.

Christian coughed. "Y-yes, she's quite lovely," he commented, and couldn't quite meet anyone's eyes as he spoke.

Zidler took Alyse's hands in his. "This is so wonderful! I'm more certain than ever that you are absolutely perfect for this role. Perfect for the Moulin Rouge!" Then he sighed dramatically and turned to look at the others who'd come back with him. "Now if only we could find the male leads! You would think there are no good male actors in this city!" He started to sigh again, then his eyes narrowed as they fell on Christian. "My boy…now that I think about it, you would be perfect to play the musician! Yes, I can see it now…"

"No." Christian's voice was cold, and firm, as he interrupted. Zidler stopped mid-tirade and stared, as did everyone else.

"But…but…" Zidler blustered. "Just think about it! Can't you imagine…"

"_No._" Christian said again, and now his face had hardened to match his voice. "I'll never step foot on that stage again, and you know why. And don't _ever _ask me to." With that, he turned around and walked over to his typewriter, gathered up his papers, and grabbed his coat. As he moved towards the exit, he tossed over his shoulder, "I'll work on the script tonight. You'll have more by tomorrow." Then he disappeared through the doors.

Alyse stared after him for a moment, and then turned back to Zidler as he brushed off the outburst and continued chattering. "Well, of course there must be some men in this city…" he continued, but she tuned him out, as he really wasn't directing much of his talk at her. She couldn't blame Christian for reacting badly to Zidler's unasked question. She didn't know if she'd ever have the courage to come back to the place where someone she'd loved had died, yet he did. He was a strong man…

She was shaken from her thoughts when Marie took her hand again and pulled her back to her dressing room. She spent the rest of the day, save for a break for lunch, being fussed over and trotted out onto the stage for inspection, or to play out a scene against someone auditioning. One of the men, Jerome, seemed to be a very good actor, but he made her a little uncomfortable with his wandering eyes. At the end of the day, he was told to come back tomorrow for further auditions.

Alyse left for her room that night feeling weary but excited. She remembered the stops she'd wanted to make and picked up some flowers, some bread and vegetables, and a few books. Out of sheer silliness she wove one of the flowers into her hair, and strolled home in high spirits.

Christian heard her soft footfalls on the stairs before he saw her. He'd left his door open, for once, and was in his usual place at his typewriter. He'd been working for a few hours and had made good progress. He'd lost his bad mood fairly quickly and had immersed himself in his writing. But he looked up when he heard Alyse approach her door. Her arms were full, of flowers and food, it appeared. She had one of the flowers in her hair, which was starting to curl again, apparently despite all that Marie had done to it. She looked like a pretty little faerie, and he couldn't stop himself from calling to her. "Alyse."

She looked over and smiled at him. "Just a minute!" she said, and finally managed to open her door. She pushed inside and laid the flowers across a table, tossed the food on the bed. She dropped off her coat and bag as well, and then stepped back out the door and across the hall. "Yes?" she said, pausing in the doorway.

He suddenly realized he didn't actually have anything to say to her, and then the pile of papers next to the typewriter caught his attention. "Have you read the script yet?" he asked, motioning to the pile.

"No, not the whole thing, just parts…why? Is this it?" she said curiously, coming forward and touching the stack.

Christian nodded. "Would you like to read it? I could…I could use someone's opinion."

Alyse looked at him, surprised. "Me?" she squeaked, then blushed.

He didn't seem to notice. "Well, you're going to be performing it, I suppose I can't think of anyone better to read it through."

"Well…all right," she said, trying to hide her excitement. He wanted _her_ to read his play? She, who had no experience with anything like this? She was smart enough to know, however, that this wasn't something she should turn down, and she picked up the stack of papers and looked for somewhere to sit.

He saw her gaze sweep over the room, and he coughed. "I, uh, I don't have guests very often, so you'll, uh, have to sit on the bed, if that's all right…"

She blushed again and said, "No, that's quite fine." Was he blushing too? She couldn't tell. She settled down on his neatly made bed, and started to read the first page.

Before either of them realized it, an hour and a half had passed. They'd sat together in a comfortable silence, aside from the clatter of Christian's typewriter. Alyse read the whole play through, him passing her pages as he finished typing them. Finally, he sat back, and she finished the last page. "I'm still not done with it," he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"This is really good, though, Christian," she said enthusiastically, putting the pages down and stretching out her legs. She'd long since pulled off her shoes, which amused him a little. She'd had no trouble settling in after that first awkward moment.

"Do you think so?" he asked, scratching his neck nervously and then wondering why he _was_ nervous.

"Oh, yes!" she exclaimed, pulling her legs underneath her in such a fluidly graceful motion that if he hadn't known her to be a dancer already, he'd have guessed it then. "The love between Julia and Pierre, his feelings of not deserving love, and her sense of duty toward Henri…it's such a triangle. Have you any idea how you'll end it?"

He shrugged. "Well, I think that Julia and Pierre will have to end up together, don't you? That's what people always want to see, even if it isn't always realistic." His voice carried a hint of bitterness, and before she was able to comment on his statement, he looked at his pocket watch. "Oh, I didn't realize what time it is! Are you--are you hungry? I don't really have anything…" He looked around his room somewhat bleakly, and thought again how unprepared he really was to have guests.

Alyse smiled suddenly and jumped up. "I have something…" she called over her shoulder as she dashed out of his room and across the hall to hers. She came back a moment later with the bread she'd bought earlier, laughing as she handed it to him. "I couldn't resist, it's so French!" she said on a giggle, and Christian couldn't help but laugh with her.

He got up and found a knife, which he used to cut off thick slices of the fresh bread. Then he turned to look at her. "Would you like something to drink? I could fix tea, or I have absinthe, wine, water…"

She tilted her head as she looked at him. "Absinthe? You have absinthe?"

"Yes," he said, and studied her face. "Why? You'd like to try it?"

She shrugged. "I've never had it before…"

Christian grinned. "Well, by all means, then I feel it's my duty to introduce you to it before someone else that is less of a gentleman than myself gets the chance."

Alyse laughed. "All right," she agreed. She liked him like this. He was funny and friendly, and part of her wondered why he was being so kind to her. She watched him as he moved about the room, first lighting a few candles, as it was late and growing dark. Then he moved over to what she had to assume was the table where he usually ate.

He poked through the various eating utensils he had in a bowl on the table until he found two absinthe spoons, and as he located the rest of the items he needed, he spoke to her. "Now, I usually just drink absinthe from the bottle, sometimes with a little water, depending on my mood--" which was generally sour, so he commonly drank the absinthe straight "--but for your first time, I think we'll go all out." He came back over to his typing table, and pushed a sheaf of papers aside. He carried the spoons, two glasses, a bowl of sugar, and a carafe of water. He set them down and went back across the room to retrieve a tall bottle. He turned to her with another grin and said, "_Absinthe_."

She giggled at his little show, and he sat down at the table and went to work. He set up the glasses on the table, and poured a small amount of absinthe into each. Then he placed a spoon over the top of each glass, and then dropped a cube of sugar onto the spoons. Next, he slowly poured water over the sugar, dissolving it into the liquid. When he was finished, the sugar was completely melted, and he took the spoons off and set them on the table. He handed her one of the glasses and picked up the other for himself.

Alyse suddenly felt nervous, holding the glass in her hand, and as if he could tell, Christian smiled sympathetically and said, "Are you sure about this?"

She looked into his eyes for a minute and then nodded. "Yes, I think so," she said, and then laughed. "Yes, I want to do this. You've already fixed it, why waste it?"

He chuckled. "All right," he said. "Together?"

She nodded again, and kept her eyes on him as he raised his glass to his lips. She lifted hers, and then he tipped his back and swallowed it all in one long gulp, never taking his eyes off of hers as she did the same.

Alyse never had more than the few occasional sips of wine before, and so the effects of the absinthe were immediate and strong. She could have sworn she felt the alcohol seeping into her bloodstream, winding into her veins and warming her whole body. She focused on Christian's face--he was watching her closely--and his eyes seemed even greener than before, his features a little more clear. She giggled a little at his expression, and he spoke to her.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, and handed him her glass. "More," she said on another giggle.

Christian gave a laugh as he looked at her. Her eyes were wide, looking around the room in wonder, and he remembered his first glass of absinthe--the absolute clarity he'd felt, the way the world had looked--all sparkling and shiny--the way he'd felt like he could do anything. She had that look on her face now, and for some reason it pleased him, that he'd been able to do that for her. "You should wait a few minutes," he said, regretting a bit that over time, he'd grown somewhat immune to absinthe's effects.

"All right," she said, and continued to look around the room. "This is…" she searched her clouded mind for a word and finally came up with, "amazing!"

A few more minutes passed, with her making odd comments and him laughing more at her, and just as Christian was about to prepare them a second glass, a clattering on the stairs had him looking to the doorway. Alyse followed his gaze, only her head moved much slower.

Toulouse came into the doorway, took one look at the scene in front of him--Alyse's face, the bottle in Christian's hand--and cried, "Christian! You've given her absinthe! You should have called me down!" They all laughed as he hobbled over to the table and snatched the bottle away. Christian found another glass and spoon, and they all shared a few more glasses together, along with the bread. It was the wee hours of the morning before Alyse stumbled into her bed and fell into green tinted dreams.


	10. A Nighttime Stroll

Alyse awoke the next morning and opened her eyes tentatively. She hadn't had much sleep, and she had no idea what to expect. She'd gone to bed feeling like her whole body was floating, and slept soundly all through the night. She sat up carefully and looked around the room.

__

Ohh…

She was sitting perfectly still, but her vision was vibrating. Everything was shaking from left to right, even though she made the utmost effort to barely even breathe. She closed her eyes, then reopened them, but it was still the same. She let out a little moan and wondered how on earth she was going to get ready to leave--much less walk down the stairs, cross the street, and go inside the Moulin Rouge and _work_!

Somehow, Alyse managed to clean herself up and get dressed. She fumbled for the door and opened it, slid out and closed it. She leaned against it for a moment, to get her bearings, and heard another door open and shut. She looked across the landing and saw Christian with his arms full of his papers.

He stopped, took one look at her, and began to laugh.

"That's not very nice," she said weakly, and he laughed harder.

"I'm sorry, really, I'm so sorry," he said, trying to contain his mirth. He remembered all too well many a morning of feeling the way she looked, and it was not a pleasant feeling, he could say that.

"Is this normal?" Alyse asked him, her eyes focusing on him vaguely.

"Is what normal?"

"You're moving around quite a bit."

He snorted. "I'm standing perfectly still, Alyse. That's just the absinthe."

She moaned again. "Why did I let you make me try it?"

"_Me_?" he exclaimed, and saw her smile a little. "I do believe _you_ asked _me_, if my memory serves me correctly!"

"Yes, yes, you're right. But _you_ should have told me no!" she said with a dramatic sigh. "Remind me, the next time I feel like drinking, I should stick to water."

He nodded seriously. "I'll do that." She still hadn't moved from her place against the door, and he came towards her. "Do you need some help?"

She didn't say anything for a minute, and then, "Yes…I don't think I know how to walk right now."

Christian made a point of keeping his amusement to himself as he helped her down the stairs, then offered her his arm as they stepped outside. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow and he steered her down the sidewalk, to a café on the corner. He deposited her into a chair and when she looked up at him, confused, he said, "You need coffee. Wait here."

Alyse just stared after him as he went into the building. Did he _really_ think she could go anywhere, even if she wanted to? She couldn't hardly even _see._

He returned a few minutes later with two cups and placed one in front of her. When she looked at him dubiously, he laughed. "Go ahead, it's just coffee. It works wonders for me."

She picked up the cup and sipped at it, letting the warmth soothe her nerves, and they sat for a few minutes, watching the world go by as they finished their cups. When she set hers down, he looked at her and asked, "How do you feel now?"

She looked around, then back at him. "Well, you're not shaking anymore, so I suppose that's a good thing, right?"

"Yes, that's good," Christian grinned. "We'd better get going, or we'll be late." They stood up and made their way to the Moulin Rouge. As they approached the building, Alyse could almost feel Christian tensing up beside her. Once again, she thought how hard it must be for him to come here, and when he turned to open the door for her, she gave him a warm smile. He returned it, and once inside, they both went their separate ways.

Christian spent the most part of his day at the typewriter, brainstorming ideas and running them by Toulouse when he came over. Zidler was a frequent visitor to his little table as well, asking his opinion on certain actors and who did Christian think fit his vision, truly? He was pleased to be involved in the process of picking the actors, but he'd stuck to himself so much over the last few years that all of the social activity was wearing him down. The only thing that saved him was when Alyse was trotted out onto the stage for some various thing, to show off another dress, or to run a scene with one of the men auditioning. Every time he saw her, he couldn't help but remember her last night, drunk on absinthe, dancing around his room with Toulouse, and a smile broke out over his face without fail. She always chose that moment to glance towards him, and some of the nervousness that she was trying so hard to hide trickled away as she smiled back at him.

She came onto the stage quite a few times to do scenes with one of the men from yesterday, the one named Jerome. Christian could tell right away that he was a fabulous actor, but he couldn't say he cared much for the man himself. He seemed overly self confident, full of attitude and false charm, which he was currently focusing on Alyse as they stood together onstage, having just run through a scene. Zidler was talking to Christian, and he pulled his eyes off of the actors and focused on the man.

"…so what do you think? He has a marvelous voice, so he'd be perfect for the singing. How about that one to play Pierre?"

Christian tried to push aside his unfounded personal feelings toward Jerome and managed to say, "He has a lot of talent, yes. I think he'd do well."

"Splendid!" Zidler clapped his hands and went to deliver the good news.

So Jerome was given the part of Pierre, the romantic, broken-hearted musician, and he sauntered about the Moulin Rouge the rest of the afternoon looking very pleased with himself. When Zidler dismissed them all for the day, he made his way over to Alyse, who was coming out from backstage, finally back in her regular clothing and grateful for it.

"It would be a great pleasure to me if I could escort you home," Jerome purred without preamble as he sidled up to her.

Alyse tried to keep the slight feeling of panic that bubbled up inside of her from showing on her face. Oh, Jerome was nice enough, she supposed, but he was far too smooth and calculating for her preferences. She fumbled in her mind for an excuse, and then suddenly she saw one. "Oh, Jerome, I'm really terribly sorry, but Christian has already offered to walk me home. We live in the same building," she added, at Jerome's perplexed look, thanking her lucky stars that Christian hadn't left early today. She glanced quickly in his direction and called, "Are you nearly ready to leave, Christian?"

He looked up from where he was gathering his things together. He'd heard the short conversation and was all too happy to help Alyse get away from Jerome. "I'm ready," he replied. He put on his coat and hat, gathered his papers under his arm, and turned to face her. "Shall we?"

She tried not to run the distance to him, remembering to toss an absent "I'll see you tomorrow, Jerome," over her shoulder as she walked. She took Christian's arm as she had that morning as they left the building, and a sigh of relief exploded out of her as she looked back over her shoulder. "Oh, thank heavens for you!" she said with a giggle.

Christian laughed as he glanced at her. "I take it you're no fan of Jerome?" he asked, realizing as he spoke that he was prying, but the question was already out, and she was answering.

"He's very talented." She said, then paused. "And as I was growing up I was taught, if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." She laughed again. "Did you see his face?" she asked. "He couldn't believe I didn't want to walk home with him."

"I imagine you bruised his ego more than his feelings," Christian said with a snort. They hadn't been paying attention to where they were walking, and instead of crossing the street, they'd walked down the block. Now they were stopped in front of a little restaurant, and he turned to look at her. "Would you…would you like to have dinner with me?" It was _just_ dinner, he told himself. A meal between two friends. _Just _friends…

She glanced at him and decided it was a casual offer. Nothing romantic, no tricks up his sleeve. She accepted his invitation, and they went inside, where they enjoyed a pleasant meal. Alyse remembered to order water without being reminded, a fact which amused Christian to no end when she explained she didn't feel like repeating that morning's experience tomorrow. He had wine and they ended up picking food off of each other's plates, like old friends who'd known each other for years. It amazed Alyse how comfortable she was with Christian, after only knowing him for a few short days. She didn't have much experience with men--certainly she'd been courted by men before, but they'd mostly been interested in her name and her father's money, and not in _her_ specifically. Whenever she'd brought up her interests in a conversation, they'd all smiled and nodded, looking over her head in disinterest until they could turn the topic back to something _they_ enjoyed, such as business or politics. But Christian was different. He talked about art, and books, and music, all things that Alyse loved. When she spoke, he listened, and when he answered, she could tell he took her seriously. They discussed the play at length, the actors, joked about Harold Zidler and his colorful personality. It was clear to Alyse that Christian still believed in three of the four ideals he'd held dear when he'd first come to Paris--truth, beauty, and freedom. As for love--his nose wrinkled when he explained the ending he was working on for the play. Alyse bit her lip to keep from asking him why he was so opposed to love now. This was twice he'd made wry comments about the play and writing it to please the audience, not to reflect real life. But she was smart, and could figure out why he didn't believe in love anymore--once he'd loved, and he'd lost. Now he didn't want to try again. That much was obvious, even without him having to say it.

Once they'd finished their meal and Christian had paid, they stepped back outside into the Paris night. The walkways were bustling with people, and they moved into the crowds.

"I don't feel like going back yet," Christian said with a laugh. "It's such a nice evening. Would you mind a walk?"

"No, of course not," Alyse said, secretly pleased to have the chance to spend more time with him. It felt like old habit now to slip her arm into his, and they strolled along, him pointing things out to her as they went--little shops, more cafes, landmarks. She wondered vaguely in some quiet part of her mind how they must look to other people--two young lovers out for a nighttime stroll? Then she quickly dismissed the thought. Those kinds of things, she reminded herself, are not the things one thinks about a friend, a very _new_ friend at that, much less a man who no longer believes in love. She once again resolved to focus on him as _only_ a friend and to put aside the little crush that she was afraid she'd been carrying around for years. This was Christian as he was _now_ with her, not the same man from the book. She'd be wise to remember that.

They reached a small park and stopped walking. Christian intended for them to turn around and head back, but she stopped him.

"Christian, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course," he replied.

She sighed a little and then said, "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He looked at her in surprise, realizing this was a serious question. He thought it over and decided to be honest with her. "I suppose it's because I see myself in you." It was Alyse's turn to look surprised, and Christian laughed. "Myself as I was when I first came to Paris, I mean. Young, innocent, naïve--" She blushed at this, and he took her hand without thinking. "Please don't take offense, Alyse, it's not meant as an insult. I just…" He searched for the right words and made the mistake of looking into her eyes. Big and blue, they stared up at him, awaiting his answer. He swallowed and finally managed to say, "I know how much I appreciated having friends when I first arrived, and I thought maybe you could use one too. I remember all too well how hard it is to fit in here. Having a friend helps." He stopped speaking, because he was afraid he wasn't making sense, but she nodded and squeezed his hand.

"It does. I'm very grateful." She released his hand, and they stood there, smiling at each other for a moment. A breeze blew through the trees, carrying a hint of a chill on it, and Alyse shivered a little.

Christian noticed and was immediately concerned. "Are you cold?" he asked, and before she could respond, was juggling the papers he carried as he shrugged off his coat.

"No, Christian, really, I'm--"

But her protests fell on deaf ears as he dropped the coat onto her shoulders. "Don't be silly," he said. "I'm wearing long sleeves, anyway, and you're not. Here, slip your arms in." She did as he told her, and was enveloped in a long coat much too big on her. She laughed a little as she brought her arms up, showing off sleeves that fell past her fingertips. He shoved his papers under his arm and rubbed his hands briskly up and down her arms for a moment, as if trying to warm her up, and she glanced up into his eyes. She was suddenly aware of his smell, wrapping around her, as she stood draped in his coat, his hands on her arms. The coat smelled faintly of cigarettes and of something she couldn't place, something that was probably just Christian himself. As she looked at him, she felt a spark light up between them, felt everything else fall away like it had yesterday when she met his eyes from the stage. And this time, she knew he felt it too. She could see it in his eyes, as his guard fell for just a split second.

Christian knew that if he'd been writing this scene in a play or a story, this would be the point where the boy would lean down and kiss the girl softly, and then they'd walk off into the night, happy and pleased with their love. But this wasn't a story, this was real life, and Christian had learned long ago that life hurt. _Never fall in love, it always ends bad_. That had been his motto for years, taken from words the Argentinean had spoken to him once. It was all too true.

He dropped his hands from her arms, and thankfully, the spell was broken. She blinked as he stepped back and asked, "Is that better?"

Alyse had to clear her throat before she could answer. "Yes, much, thank you."

Christian nodded as she pulled the coat around her and then he said, "We should be getting back. We wouldn't want to be late tomorrow."

She laughed and they began the walk back to their building. This time they walked in silence. The city was quieting down and so they moved on through the darkened night, finally reaching their building. They made their way up the stairs and each pulled out their own key.

"Do you still have work to do tonight?" Alyse asked as she unlocked her door.

Christian already had his open and turned to look at her. "Yes, unfortunately," he sighed. "I promised Harold I'd try to have the script done by tomorrow or the next day at the latest, and I'm sure he'll be badgering me about it as soon as he sees me. I hope I don't keep you awake."

It took her a moment to realize he meant the typewriter. "Oh, no, it won't be a problem," she said, hoping he hadn't noticed her hesitation. "I'm very tired."

Once again they stared at each other, and then she said, "Well, thank you for supper, and for the walk--oh!" she laughed, pulling off his coat. "And for this." She stepped across the hall to hand it to him.

"You're welcome," he replied. Another silence, and then he said, "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, tomorrow," she said, suddenly anxious to get away from his gaze. She felt like he could see every thought running through her mind. "Good luck with your writing."

"Thank you," he said. She gave him a quick smile and moved through her doorway, and Christian watched as she shut the door with a soft click. If only life was fair, he thought, and then dismissed the notion. Life _wasn't_ fair. If it was, Satine would still be alive. He sighed to himself and walked into his room, closing the door behind him. He went to toss the coat onto his bed, then stopped. He could swear that he could smell her on the fabric. He sniffed the collar and closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head at the fanciful thought and dropped the coat on the bed. Crazy, he told himself. She hadn't worn it for that long. Not looking forward to the long night ahead of him and the memories that were sure to distract him, he sat down and began to work.

-----------------

[a/n: Credit goes to Mr. Ewan McGregor for the description of Alyse's hangover *grin*]


	11. Hands

Three days passed, and things seemed to be falling into place with the play. The cast had finally been fully selected, including dancers and background characters, and the script had been finished. Of course, with Harold Zidler around, who knew how many revisions would be required, and so Christian's job was far from over. Not only that, but Zidler had insisted that Christian stay and help out with the direction of the play. "You wrote it, boy, you know what it should look like!" He wouldn't take no for an answer, and so Christian had resolved himself to being involved with the play in a larger capacity than he'd planned.

The third day after his and Alyse's nighttime stroll, Christian sat in the seats of the theatre as the cast gathered onstage for a read-through of the script. He was true to his word, he would not go onto the stage--just looking at it made him feel sick.

Jerome had placed himself next to Alyse right away, and she was trying to be as polite as possible to him without giving him any ideas. Christian would have laughed at how uncomfortable she looked if it didn't irritate him so much that Jerome wasn't getting the idea. And then whenever he realized he was irritated at Jerome, he grew even more annoyed with himself at how protective he felt of Alyse. It was irrational, really, when he thought about it. He'd known her for less than a week, hadn't really spent that much time with her, aside from walking her home at night and every now and again when she poked her head into his room to see how his writing was going. He supposed it was all part of being her friend, to be concerned when he saw a unsavory character trying his best to win her affections.

Zidler called for a break, and Christian jumped up from his seat. He had to get out of the theatre, if only for a few minutes. He felt stifled half of the time he was there, as if he couldn't breathe for all of the memories that crowded in on him at the oddest moments. Watching everyone up on the stage, scripts in hand, took him back to a time when Satine had been the star, her flame hair shining in the lights as she played her role of the Hindu Courtesan. He shook his head, wishing he could forget, just for one second, the smile in her eyes. He shoved his way out of a door on the side of the building and fumbled for a cigarette.

Alyse had seen Christian slip out the out of the door, and she'd truly had no intention of following him. He had looked like he needed time to himself and she certainly could understand the feeling. But then she saw Jerome descending upon her out of the corner of her eye and decided that maybe she would go talk to Christian after all. She quickly made her way down from the stage and over to the exit.

She pushed through the door and saw Christian standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, head tipped back, eyes shut. She could hear him muttering "damn it, damn it" over and over as his trembling fingers held a cigarette to his lips. Alyse considered stepping back inside and giving him his privacy, but she couldn't stand to see him so obviously upset. She moved toward him slowly and said uncertainly, "Christian? Are you…are you all right?"

He didn't seem surprised to see her as he turned his head in her direction and opened his eyes. What she saw in them was a knife to her own heart. They were red, as if he'd been fighting tears, and filled with so much anguish and pain that she couldn't help herself, and laid a hand on his arm. "Oh, Christian," she whispered.

His muscles tensed slightly at her touch, then relaxed. He never spoke of Satine to _anyone_, not even Toulouse, but one look into Alyse's sympathetic eyes and the words were spilling from his lips. "It hurts so much to be here. So much…it's not all the time, mind you, just every now and again…I feel as if I see her everywhere, it's like I can hear her voice, and the pain is just suddenly so strong…" He could usually find words, but right now it was enough of a challenge to just breathe.

He turned his head away and she could see him scrub his hand over his face. Her heart broke once again as his sad eyes met hers and he attempted to smile.

"You must think I'm crazy, to still be so…so upset over this. It's been s-seven years…"

Alyse squeezed Christian's arm and once again couldn't stop herself as she reached up and touched his cheek. "Grief has no time limit, Christian," she told him softly. He looked at her with that bleak expression, and then he did something that shocked them both.

He hugged her.

She was so surprised that for a second she couldn't figure out what to do. Then she recovered her senses and slid her arms around his waist. He let his chin rest on the top of her head for a moment and closed his eyes. It had been too long since he'd held a woman in his arms, and he tried not to think too much about how good it felt. Satine was nowhere in his mind for those brief seconds, and when he realized that, it felt like both a blessing and a sin.

They both let go at the same time and stepped away from each other. Christian cleared his throat and mumbled, "Th-thank you for listening."

Alyse nodded and made an effort to calm her racing heart. That had been the last thing she'd expected, and possibly the most pleasant thing that had ever happened to her. She searched her mind for something to say and came up with, "It was no trouble, really. I mean, I suppose I know as much about you as anyone…" She trailed off with a little wince.

He saw it and looked at her curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Well…" she said, not meeting his eyes. "I just realized that I know so much about your life, from reading your book, and it's unfair, really, because you know so little about me…I just feel strange, knowing all about your past and I'm a virtual stranger to you," she finished in a rush.

He leaned against the wall once more, this time facing her. His face was calmer now. "So, tell me about your life, then," he said.

She laughed. "Not now! There's no time. We both have to get back soon."

Christian considered this. "True," he agreed. "You could come to my room tonight and tell me your life's story, then."

"Really?" Alyse asked, somewhat surprised that he'd really want to know anything about her.

"Yes, really," he said. "Whenever you feel like it. I'm sure I'll be there." _I've got nothing else to do…_

"Well, okay, if you're sure…" He nodded and she smiled. "Are you coming back in?"

"Yes, soon," Christian replied. "I just need…" He shrugged and gave a faint smile. "Just another minute to myself."

His face was sad again--he looked like a lost little boy, and she fought the urge to touch him once more. It just wouldn't be smart, she knew. That hug had rattled both of them, though she knew he wouldn't admit it. She gave him another smile and said, "Well, I'll see you inside, then," and went back into the theatre.

Christian felt like banging his head against the wall. What had possessed him to hug her? All he could tell himself was that she'd caught him in a vulnerable moment. He'd needed human contact and she'd been there. That's all he could believe, anyways. He wouldn't let it be anything else.

He closed his eyes again. "Please come now, I think I'm falling, I'm holding onto all I think is safe. It seems I found the road to nowhere, and I'm trying to escape. I yelled back when I heard thunder, but I'm down to one last breath. And with it, let me say…" He sighed, and in the barest of whispers, sang, "Let me say, hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking, maybe six feet ain't so far down…" He pushed away from the wall and made his way to the door.

Alyse scurried away from the doorway when she heard Christian's footsteps approaching. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but as she'd been walking away, she'd heard his quiet singing and couldn't help but listen. She only hoped that he hadn't seen her.

* * *

Later that day, as the daylight faded outside his windows, Christian sat at the little table in his garret with a pencil and paper. He'd moved the typewriter out of the way for now--he preferred to write out poetry and songs before he typed them up. The words he'd sung to himself earlier had worked themselves around in his mind all day until he'd finally given in and written them down. Now he had the better part of a poem, or maybe a song, written out. Which it was, he didn't know, but he was fairly pleased with it.

That was how Alyse saw him when she paused in his doorway. He was hunched over the table, pencil in one hand as he read over whatever was written on the paper in front of him. Tousled black hair hung in his face, and she could imagine herself walking over and brushing it out of his eyes…She shook herself as Christian looked up at her and smiled.

"Come in, come over here," he invited. "I've got something I want you to read."

She walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He turned and handed her the paper he'd been writing on, then got up and ambled over to one of the windows, lighting a cigarette on the way.

Alyse focused on the paper in her hands. His handwriting was neat, yet crowded, as if he couldn't get the words written down fast enough. The first lines were the words she'd heard him sing earlier, then he'd added more:

__

I'm looking down now that it's over, reflecting on all of my mistakes / I thought I found the road to somewhere, somewhere in His grace / I cried out heaven save me, but I'm down to one last breath / And with it let me say…let me say / Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking / That maybe six feet ain't so far down / Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking / That maybe six feet ain't so far down…

Alyse couldn't fight back the heat that stole into her cheeks as she finished reading and looked up at Christian. He was watching her, his eyes full of amusement.

"What do you think?"

She felt tongue tied. "It's beautiful, Christian, it really is. So expressive and honest and…and you saw me earlier, didn't you? I'm so sorry…I didn't mean to invade your privacy…"

Christian laughed as he held up a hand to stop her. "Invade my privacy? I wasn't exactly in private, remember," he pointed out. "I don't mind, really. I'd have let you look at it anyways, so it's all the same."

"Really?" she asked, taken aback that he would want her input.

He paused, as if thinking over what he'd said. "Yes, I would have." He shrugged and added, "It's not finished. I can't figure out how to end it…when I do, you can read it again." He stubbed out his cigarette and then announced, "Toulouse brought down some soup earlier, and it's still warm, would you like some?"

"Toulouse cooks?" Alyse said, surprised again.

"Oh, yes, he's a man of many talents," Christian said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. He searched around for bowls and utensils and served up the soup. He brought Alyse a bowl and set his on the table, then asked, "Something to drink?"

She met his mischievous eyes and couldn't contain a giggle. "Yes, but no absinthe for me, thanks," she said. He held up a bottle of wine and she nodded. He poured two glasses and brought them over. They settled in to eat, and he asked her to tell him about herself, her life.

"That's why you came over, not just for soup," he teased.

She took a moment to figure out where to start. "My parents were never very loving. I was mainly raised by my nanny and our maids and whomever they hired to amuse me. They were very social people, you see, and having a child interfered with that, so they made sure that I had good care so that they could continue on with life as it was before me." She stopped, sighed, took a drink. "I think I was an accident, though neither of them would ever admit it. I don't think they'd ever intended to have children, so I know that there was never any question of siblings for me. That would have really hindered their lifestyle. My father is very upper class, with a rich family, and my mother came from _good blood_ as well--" her voice mocked her words "--which I'm sure you realize means she had money, and she was beautiful, and their families thought they would make a lovely couple."

"No love there," Christian guessed.

"None that I ever saw." Alyse sighed again. "Though I rarely saw them. They were always out of the country, or off to social events that children weren't allowed to attend, or something like that. They seemed to think that giving me everything I wanted made up for not having their love and attention…" She paused again to clear her throat. She set her bowl down and held her glass with both hands. "When I told my mother I wanted to learn to dance, she sent me to dance lessons, even though my father insisted it was a waste of time and money. 'It will make her happy,' she told him, which even then I knew meant that it would keep me out of their way. When I said I thought I might like to sing, they sent me to the best music school they could find, where I learned all about singing and music, and I learned the piano. When I came home, they suddenly realized I was worth something. They could brag to their friends. 'Look at our darling daughter. She's so lovely, so talented.'"

Christian heard the bitterness in her voice and reached across the small distance between them to take her hand. She glanced up at him, her eyes questioning the gesture, but he urged, "Go on." He could understand how she felt. He'd felt the same--his father had only been proud of him when he did things that reflected well on him. If Christian had done anything to please himself, it had been looked down upon with scorn. How could he _not_ reach out to her when he could practically feel her pain? He'd asked her to tell him about her past, and it was clearly hurting her. She'd helped _him_ earlier--he supposed it was his turn to offer a little comfort.

And his hand, warm and strong around hers, did help. She continued, "I knew from the time I read your book that I would be leaving my home as soon as I possibly could. It took me years to get the chance, to find the courage…I didn't like my life, but I was scared to be on my own. It was comfortable." She paused again, took another drink, and looked down at their hands. His dwarfed hers. She suddenly felt very small and cared for, and she hadn't felt cared for in too many years, not since her parents had decided she was too old for a nanny and sent away her beloved Elizabeth. "When I told them I was leaving and coming to Paris, they both laughed at me. I didn't mention it again until the day I was to go. I had my bags packed and was heading out the door before they finally realized I'd meant what I'd said. My mother begged me not to go--" _The world is such a scary place for a young girl,_ she'd said, fake tears pooling in her eyes "--and my father went on and on about how preposterous it was for me to be leaving them, and what would I do for money, and where would I live, and what would their _friends_ think when they found out that I'd run off to Paris to live in some village of sin?" She and Christian both laughed at that, and she smiled up at him, knowing he'd had the same type of lecture. "I'm sure they let it drop because they figured I'd be back quickly. My father gave me some money, and--" she waved her free hand "--you met me on my first day here."

"Your life sounds a lot like mine did," Christian said. "See, I knew more about you than you thought."

Alyse gave a little laugh. "I suppose so," she said. Once again she looked at their hands. They were resting on her knee, and she was dreading the moment when he would take his from hers. "I should thank you now, for listening…"

Christian's fingers squeezed hers, and he replied, "You listened to me before, I did the same for you. That's what friends are for, right?"

The word _friends_ seemed to echo between them for a moment. Alyse met Christian's eyes and said softly, "Yes, that's what friends are for." He smiled at her, and her heart tripped in her chest. It occurred to her that she wasn't doing so well in regards to her goal to think of him as just a friend, which was clearly what he wanted. At that moment they both let go of each other's hand She clasped hers together, and he raked his through his hair. Neither said a word for a moment. They both felt the loss of the connection, small as it may have been, deep down inside. And they both refused to think about that fact as they said their goodnights and climbed into their separate, lonely beds.

[Christian's poem/song:

One Last Breath-Creed]

[a/n: Thanks so much for all the wonderful reviews, I really appreciate them. They make this worth putting out for everybody ;) For the person who asked about Jerome--yes, I took the name from _The Pillow Book_, but I don't see the characters in my head as being the same at all--I loved PB Jerome ;) And there's no such thing as being too obsessed with Ewan! Thanks again, everyone!]


	12. Just a Kiss

Days went by, and before long almost two weeks had passed since Alyse first came to the Moulin Rouge. The cast was well into rehearsals for the play and things were going well. The sets were being built, the costumes sewn, the actors were learning their lines. The play had finally been finished, with the promised romantic ending. Alyse was slowly losing her nerves each day. Each time she stepped onto the stage was easier than the previous time, and she had to owe a large part of that to Christian. He worked with each member of the cast, as a group and one on one, to make sure they understood his visions of the characters. He was patient and helpful with everyone, answering questions and rewriting whatever was necessary to make the role fit the actor. It seemed to Alyse that he spent a lot of time with her, but perhaps she felt that way because they spent almost every evening together.

It had started with the night she'd told him about her family, and continued from there. After she came home at night--because Christian usually left before she did--she'd change her clothes and wander across the hall to see what he was doing. He was almost always at his typewriter. Once he'd finished the play, he'd decided he wanted to try his hand at writing a novel. He'd been feeling inspired lately, more than he had in years, and so each night he sat at his table, tapping away at the keys with his two-fingered method, his brain coming up with ideas faster than he could get them onto the paper. Alyse would come over and sit, read what he'd written, listen as he tossed ideas at her, rejecting the bad ones and enthusiastically nodding at the good ones. Sometimes she would look through his books and pick one out to read, curling up on his bed while he wrote. The silence was never uncomfortable, and they both enjoyed having someone around. Each had lived too much of their lives alone--having someone to share a quiet evening with was almost like a blessing.

One night, Alyse crept quietly across the hall. She could hear Christian typing and thought for a moment of turning back and just forgetting her idea. But she mustered up her courage and stepped into his room, walking up to his table and standing by his side until he looked up from his writing.

She looked uneasy, he thought, and she was clutching a small sheaf of papers in her arms. "What's this?" Christian asked, gesturing at the papers.

She stood for another minute, and then thrust the papers at him, turning and fleeing back across the hall as quickly as she'd come. He stared after her for a moment, and then was looking at her closed door as it slammed shut behind her. He glanced down at the papers in his hand, wondering what could have her so worked up, and realized he was holding a stack of paper that bore her handwriting. He began paging through, and then moved over to the bed to read in earnest when he realized that these pages were poetry she had written, and it was very good poetry, at that.

As he read, he realized he had to change his views of her. He knew she was a talented actress, a fabulous singer, and a lovely person--but now he had to add talented writer to the list. One of the poems stuck out especially to him, one titled "Today". He felt as though he could have written it himself at one point in his life, back when the world was new and open to all possibilities.

__

Today is the greatest  
day I've ever known  
Can't live for tomorrow,  
tomorrow's much too long  
I'll burn my eyes out  
before I get out   
  
I wanted more  
than life could ever grant me  
Bored by the chore  
of saving face  
  
Today is the greatest  
day I've ever known  
Can't wait for tomorrow  
I might not have that long  
I'll tear my heart out  
before I get out  
  
Pink ribbon scars  
that never forget  
I tried so hard  
to cleanse these regrets  
My angel wings  
were bruised and restrained  
My belly stings  
  
Today is  
Today is  
Today is  
The greatest day  
That I have ever really known  


Christian finished reading, but held that one aside. It took him a while to make his way through all of the pages, but finally he finished, and got up to cross the hall.

Alyse had been puttering about her room, trying not to bite her fingernails, wondering what on earth had possessed her to give Christian her poetry, when there was a knock at her door. She answered it quickly and found Christian, holding her papers in her hands, wearing an unreadable expression on his face.

"When did you write this one?" he asked, handing her "Today".

She took the paper with shaking fingers, mentally berating herself for being so jumpy, and managed to say through the knot in her throat, "Umm…the day I left home…"

Christian smiled and nodded knowingly, his eyes lighting up as he said, "It's really, really good."

She stared at him. "You think so?"

"Yes," he replied, and had to laugh at her surprise. "It's excellent. I figured that was when you wrote it, but I wanted to be sure. When I read it, I could just sense how you must have felt that day."

She nodded and smiled back at him. "Yes, oh, I was so happy to finally be leaving! I sat on the train and the words just came to me…" She sat down on one of the two chairs in her room, and he took the other. They spent the rest of the night discussing her poems, and Alyse was glowing with the praise he handed her as he left to go back to his room. She told him as he went that he was the only person who had ever read her poetry, and he looked at her seriously. "Then I'm very honored," he responded, and hesitated a moment before raising a hand to her face and touching her cheek briefly. Then his hand fell away and he smiled softly before turning and crossing the short distance between their rooms.

***

Two days later Alyse was a nervous wreck once again. Harold Zidler had called for a dress rehearsal the next day--"to see how we're coming along, cherubs, we've only got a few weeks left! We need to be sure we all know what we are doing!" Alyse figured she was in better shape than some of the other actors--Jerome certainly didn't know all of his lines and songs, and many of the others were in the same boat--but nonetheless she was still worried.

Zidler had let them out early that afternoon so that, as he put it, they could all go home and get plenty of rest and be back the next morning, ready to get right down the business of being brilliant. Alyse stopped on the way home at a café and had a small meal, then went straight to her room and picked up her script. She was relieved that she'd memorized most of her lines, and the dancing and singing weren't all that difficult for her. She sighed and looked out of her open doorway into Christian's room. She couldn't see or hear him, and decided she'd go over and find out what he was doing. Maybe he had something to say that would help calm her down a bit.

Alyse peered in the doorway and found him sitting in his chair, a glass of wine in one hand, his feet propped up on his table as he read a book. His green eyes were furrowed in deep concentration as he turned the page, and she suddenly thought that maybe he'd like to have an evening alone to himself for once. She turned to leave, and he said, without looking up from the book, "Alyse, don't go."

She turned back to him, and he was marking off the page and closing the book. "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" he asked her, setting down his glass. "Big day tomorrow and all."

She sighed. "I don't think I could," she said. "I can't relax. I've never had a dress rehearsal before, nothing like this, anyways…"

Christian looked at her. She was wearing a long, simple dress of pale pink, and her feet were bare. If not for the tense look on her face, he'd have thought she was just popping in to say good night. But he could tell she needed to talk, and dropped his feet down to the floor. "You know your part," he pointed out. "I know you do, I've worked with you."

"Yes," she said. "It's not that, really, I guess. I just…I'm nervous, is all. It's new for me. It's kind of scary."

He nodded. She was twisting her hands the way she did when she had a lot on her mind. "Do you want to talk about anything? Are there any scenes that are giving you trouble?"

She thought for a minute, then admitted, "Well…I guess I have the most trouble with the scene where Julia agrees to marry Henri." She looked at Christian, and he motioned for her to sit down on the bed. She walked over and curled her legs beneath her before she continued. "I just don't understand why, if she loves Pierre so much, she would agree to marry someone else. Even if she's never seen him, don't you think she would wait to be with the man she really loves?"

Christian pulled his chair closer to the bed so he could face her, taking his well worn copy of the script off of the table and thumbing through it as he spoke. "She loves Pierre, but she doesn't want to be alone forever. She doesn't think she'll ever be able to find him, to convince him of her love, and here is Henri, who so clearly loves her. He's willing to give her everything, and love her completely. She enjoys him, thinks of him as a good friend. So that makes it easier for her to say yes to him. At least she won't be marrying someone she hates, and she'll have someone to build a life with, have a family with."

Alyse thought over his words and took the script he handed her. She read through the scene once more, with Christian's words running through her mind. Yes, she thought, she could understand the need for love, the desire to not be alone. If that was how Julia was feeling, that would make it much easier for her to play the part and pull off that scene realistically. She read for a few more minutes, playing out the dialogue in her head.

Christian watched her as she studied the script. He couldn't help thinking how beautiful she was, and for once he didn't feel like telling himself not to think that way. It couldn't hurt to think things like that every now and again, because it was only the truth, and he was growing so tired of not letting himself _feel_ anything. He couldn't stop looking at her hair--it fell over her shoulders as she read, like sunlight spilling down from a cloudless sky, long and wavy. He was telling himself not to touch her even as his fingers reached out and brushed a strand of that hair. _Just one touch…it won't hurt anything…_

Alyse glanced up, startled, then looked into his eyes and was lost. She suddenly couldn't remember how to think, or what she was doing, or why she was there. All she knew was his face, and that his hand was in her hair, so gentle, like a butterfly resting on a flower. She watched his eyes move over her features as his fingers trailed through her hair. His eyes fell to her lips for a brief moment, and then met hers once again. One thought was instantly clear in her mind. _He's going to kiss me._

He _was_ going to kiss her. He couldn't have stopped himself if he'd wanted to, and he _didn't_ want to, not this time. _Just one kiss, it won't hurt anything…_

Christian didn't take his eyes from hers as he lowered his head. Alyse's eyes fluttered shut right before his lips brushed hers, tender and firm all at once. He tasted like wine, and she didn't think she'd ever be able to drink any again without remembering his kiss. It was like drowning in a sea of emotions and feelings. She'd never known the meaning of the word bliss before, but she was sure that this had to be it, with Christian's hand tangled in her hair and his lips pressed so gently to hers.

By the time he drew away from her, they were both breathless. Christian pressed his forehead to Alyse's. If she'd pushed him away, or told him to let her go, he would have. He'd have apologized profusely and prayed to God that he hadn't ruined his friendship with her. But all she did was raise a small hand and press it to his chest, curling her fingers into the material of his shirt, as if she was trying to pull him closer. He slipped his other hand around to the base of her neck, holding her head in both of his hands as if she was a work of art to be cherished. He looked into her eyes, such a rich blue color, focused so intently on him, and lost the last small shred of self control he'd been hanging onto. _Just one more kiss…it won't hurt any more than the first…_

There was such little space between their lips, and he touched his to hers once more, eliciting a sigh from her as she tightened her hand in his shirt. He slid to the edge of his chair, his knees brushing hers as she turned her body to his. The kiss deepened by degrees, her other hand coming to rest on his shoulder, his fingers rubbing the soft skin of her neck. He couldn't believe how she made him feel--he'd never felt anything quite like her presence. She was a soft, trembling heat that wound around his senses and muddled his thoughts. He _couldn't_ think, all he could do was feel. _I could stay like this forever…_

A clattering on the stairs had them breaking apart abruptly.

Footsteps and laughter grew louder and then receded as the people passed the landing and continued down. Christian and Alyse were left staring at each other once it was quiet again, both wide eyed with shock. She could see reality slam into him at the same moment she felt it hit her. His eyes were panicked, and it seemed that neither of them could move. Then they both jumped up at the same moment and began speaking.

"I'd really better be going--" Alyse began.

"We should both get some sleep--" Christian said.

They both stopped and stared at each other again. The silence was deafening, and inside her head words swirled, desperate to come out. _I could lose my heart tonight, if you don't turn and walk away…'cause the way I feel I might lose control and let you stay…'cause I could take you in my arms and never let you go…_

Christian stepped back. "Right," he said, his voice sounding strained to his own ears. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

Alyse nodded and fought to keep her composure. "Yes," she replied. "I guess I…I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Right," Christian said again, and she somehow managed to make her legs work and move toward the doorway. She paused as she reached the hallway, and turned to find he was right behind her. She met his eyes once more and wished her heart would stop pounding, wished she'd stop hoping he'd kiss her again. "Good night, Christian," she said softly.

"Good night, Alyse," he said, and they stared at each other a moment longer before she finally tore her eyes from his and made it to her room.

Christian shut his door and immediately began pacing the small space. He ran his hands through his hair, holding back the scream that tore at his throat. _It won't hurt anything_…what rubbish! What in the world had he been thinking? He hadn't been thinking, he knew that, and that was the problem. He'd let his feelings get the best of him…oh, God, he couldn't even take the time to ponder the fact that he actually _had_ feelings for Alyse, that would just be too much for one night. This was why he didn't allow feelings anymore. They could ruin everything. Yet once the thought entered his mind, it wouldn't go away, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it.

"No, no," he said aloud, hoping that he could talk some sense into himself. "I'm not in love, so don't forget it, it's just a silly phase I'm going through. And just because I call you up, don't get me wrong, don't think you've got it made. I'm not in love, no, no, it's just because…I like to see you, but then again, that doesn't mean you mean that much to me. So if I call you, don't make a fuss, don't tell your friends about the two of us. I'm not in love, no, no…"

Christian stopped pacing and pounded his fists against his temples. If he just kept repeating that over and over…

Alyse hadn't made it past the door once she'd shut it. She stood against it, her body tired even as her mind was in overdrive, her fingers touching her lips. She could still taste Christian, still feel his mouth against hers. The words kept coming in her head, and fell from her mouth without her even realizing she was singing. "I could fall in love with you, I could fall in love with you…and I know it's not right, and I guess I should try to do what I should do, but I could fall in love, fall in love with you…"

----------------------------

[ songs used:

Today-Smashing Pumpkins

I Could Fall in Love-Selena

I'm Not in Love-10cc ]


	13. Fever

Christian watched Alyse onstage the next afternoon. He hadn't gotten much sleep the night before--he'd been too busy beating himself up over kissing her to worry about resting. After attacking the situation from all angles, he'd decided that the only thing he could do was try to forget what happened, and hope that Alyse could do the same. He refused to risk their friendship for fickle romance. Love never lasted, but friendship did. All it had been was two lonely people accidentally dropping their guards and making a mistake, nothing more.

Rubbing his forehead, Christian stubbed out his most recent cigarette. He'd been smoking all day, barely getting a few drags off of each one before it burnt down to nothing. He was too easily distracted today, and that wasn't smart, because he needed to be paying attention to the stage. The dress rehearsal was almost over, and had been going remarkably well. It seemed that some of the cast had actually studied their lines. Jerome was showing marked improvement, which Zidler was only too happy to point out to Christian over and over again. Aside from a few minor fumbles with dance routines and miscues, it seemed that the cast had things together.

Alyse's performance was the highlight of it all. Her lines were delivered on time, her singing pitch perfect. She seemed to have some problems with the dancing, but all in all, Zidler couldn't say enough good things about her. Christian nodded and agreed with everything the man said, because there was no sense in disagreeing, and besides, he was right. They'd lucked out the day Alyse had walked into the theatre to audition. She had that rare star quality.

__

When this production succeeds, you will no longer be a cancan dancer, but an actress. I will make you…a star…

He closed his eyes momentarily. Would the bad memories never go away? Christian forced his mind to concentrate on the scene before him--Julia and Pierre declaring their love in a fairy-tale finale. Real life so seldom played out that way, he thought, and focused on the actors.

***

Alyse was so excited that she couldn't stop shaking as Marie helped her out of her costume. "You were splendid, girl, you truly were!" Marie said, squeezing Alyse's shoulder as she pulled an arm out of a sleeve.

"Really, Marie?" she asked, turning her head to look at the older woman.

"Really," Marie smiled, her skilled fingers making quick work of the laces that held Alyse tightly in place. "I haven't seen such talent since…" The woman trailed off for a moment, then finished, "Since Satine graced our stage."

"Oh, Marie…" Alyse turned to the woman and took her hands. "You can't mean that."

Marie blinked, then wiped one of her eyes. "I do," she said firmly. "She was a shining star, and so are you. Except you're young and healthy, and there's nothing that can stand in your way. None of us will allow it. Come now, let's get you out of this mess…" She turned Alyse back around and finished untying the laces. Soon Alyse was ready to leave the theatre, tired but satisfied. Even she had to admit that it had gone much better than expected today. And she hadn't had much time to think about the previous night's events, which had been a relief. She wondered what she would say to Christian when she saw him--

She was wrapped in her thoughts as she walked out of the building and nearly collided with Christian, who was standing outside, lighting a cigarette. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and he reached out a hand to steady her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said. "I was blocking the path."

"No, it's all right…" she replied, acutely aware of his hand on her arm. She looked up at him, searching his eyes, wondering how he wanted to handle this…situation they'd gotten themselves into. Should they talk about it? Or just ignore it? She'd prayed all night that they'd be able to get past it. While she knew she cared about him, and he for her, she knew nothing could come of it. And more than anything, she valued Christian's friendship. He'd helped her through so much. She couldn't bear to lose him over one mistake.

They stared at each other, and she saw it in his eyes--an unspoken plea to forget, to move past what had happened. She wondered if he even knew that she could read his thoughts. No matter--if that was what he wanted, that was what she would do. Alyse took a deep breath and smiled at him. "What did you think today?"

Christian dropped his hand from her arm as relief flooded through him. _It's going to be okay,_ he thought, and blew smoke into the air before he answered. They started walking back to their building. "It was better than I had hoped, to be honest," he said. "I'd figured most everyone would be unprepared, but I was pleasantly surprised…"

The rest of the evening was spent discussing the rehearsal. It was a safe topic, nothing too personal. Even though they were both trying to ignore what had happened, there was a new layer of tension under every word, every glance. She wondered how long it would take for it to go away--if it ever could.

***

A few days later, Alyse pulled her weary body up the steps to her room. She'd been achy and tired all day; she'd written it off as fatigue, from working so hard at the theatre and not getting enough sleep. As the day had progressed, however, she'd started feeling worse--her head had become congested, she'd begun coughing, and whatever energy she'd had earlier had completely disappeared. By midday she was having chills, which she'd tried to hide. She knew she was needed for rehearsals and so she fought her way through the haze that was building in her head. By the time she left the theatre, all she wanted was to climb into her bed and sleep for weeks. But first she had to manage these stairs…

Christian glanced up at a harsh cough from the hallway. It took a moment for the owner to step into view, and he was surprised to see Alyse stop at her doorway, overcome by a fit of choking. His heart was immediately in his throat, and he scrambled up from his chair, hurrying to her side and slipping an arm around her slight figure. "Alyse, are you all right?" he asked her, concern lacing his voice.

Alyse shook her head as she tried to quiet her coughs, and all Christian could think was, _dear God, not again, not her…_Finally, she stopped and looked up at him. Relief cut a sharp line through him as he scanned her pale face and saw no blood on her lips. "Not feeling well," she whispered, her voice weak. As he took her key out of her hand, he could feel tremors running through her body. He opened her door and ushered her inside, pulling off her coat. "Tell me," he said, urging her to sit on the bed and then joining her.

She related her symptoms, and as she ticked each one off, he realized that she'd seemed a little rundown all day, but so had a lot of the cast. One of the dancers had actually passed out onstage and had to be carried off. A little alarm went off in Christian's head, and he held a hand up to Alyse's forehead. "You're burning up," he told her.

She nodded and hugged her arms around her body. "But I'm so cold," she whispered.

Christian thought for a minute. This wasn't good. She was clearly ill, he'd seen people earlier in the day that were ill as well…the last thing they needed was some bug going around the cast a week before they were set to open, but it appeared that was what they had. "You need to lie down, get some rest," he told her, and she nodded again.

Then she glanced up at him pitifully. "Christian…could you help me get undressed?"

For a moment he thought he hadn't heard her right. "I'm sorry?"

She sighed, and he saw tears fill her eyes. "I can normally do it alone, but I don't think I could manage tonight. Please…I can't sleep in this dress…"

He couldn't bear the look on her face, so upset at just the thought of trying to get out of a dress, and found himself agreeing. Then he couldn't figure out what to do. After all, it had been quite some time since he'd helped a woman get undressed. "Ahh…how…should you stand up?" Another miserable nod from her--it seemed that was all she had energy for--and Christian helped her to rise up and turn her back to him. He had no problem with her dress, once he blocked from his mind what he was actually doing and lectured himself sternly on the fact that she was sick and needed his help. Her dress tied up the back and he easily undid the laces. She slid her arms out of the sleeves and let the dress fall to the floor, clearly not caring that it landed in a wrinkled heap. "There," he said. "All done."

She shook her head. "The corset…I can't breathe with it on. Please, Christian?" As if she could sense the protest bubbling up in his throat, she turned her head and looked into his eyes. "I trust you. Please…"

Once more her eyes convinced him to say yes. He laid a hand on her shoulder and turned her around again. Her faith in him gave him the courage to lift his fingers to the laces of her corset and begin untying it. He worked methodically and soon had all the laces undone. He pulled the corset away from her body and laid it on a chair. She stood before him in just a slip, and he turned back to her, trying to only look at her face but failing miserably. Lord, but she was so small. He wanted to take her into his arms and protect her from the world, make her illness go away. Instead, he asked her, "Do you have anything to wear to bed?"

"Yes," Alyse said, lifting a hand and pointing to her dresser. "Nightgowns, in there."

Christian walked over and opened each drawer until he found one and then brought it to her. She'd pulled off her stockings while he was across the room, and now she straightened, holding up her arms while he slipped the gown over her head. "All set?" he asked her.

One more nod, and he pulled back the covers for her. She slid into the bed, and he tucked the covers around her, pulling them up to her chin. She turned onto her side and curled into a ball, coughs racking her small frame more. Christian's whole body tensed as he watched her, his mind betraying him by remembering another time, with a different beautiful woman overcome like this…only she had died. He ran a soothing hand over Alyse's head as she lie back against the pillow, her skin ashen, her eyes already closed. "Don't leave," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

Christian shook his head, even though she couldn't see him, and promised, "I won't." He pulled a chair over to the side of her bed and settled in for the night.

Alyse slept badly. Every time she seemed to finally have drifted off, she woke up coughing, or her nose was running, or she sneezed, and kept sneezing. Christian brought her handkerchiefs to blow her nose on, water to soothe her dry throat. He went to his room to retrieve extra blankets when she was cold, and pulled them off when she was warm. Because she couldn't sleep, neither could he, and by the time the sun rose, he had worked himself into a good state of worry.

He kept an ear on the hallway, listening for Toulouse's familiar footsteps. When he heard them, he gently pried his hand from Alyse's--she'd finally fallen asleep--and tiptoed to the door. He relayed the problem to Toulouse and asked him to go tell Zidler to send a doctor.

It wasn't half an hour before Toulouse returned with Zidler and the doctor in tow. Alyse was coughing and sneezing once again, and Christian reluctantly left her alone in her room with the doctor so he could examine her. He was done fairly quickly and told them his diagnosis: influenza. "Just like the others," he told Zidler.

"Others?" Christian asked, trying to keep an eye on the open doorway and listen to the doctor.

Zidler rattled off a list of the cast members who had fallen ill and already seen the doctor this morning, including Jerome and the dancer who had passed out yesterday. "I'm afraid we'll have to postpone the opening of the play," he said, "but of course the health of our cast is the most important thing!"

Christian gave a vague nod and turned back to the doctor. "What about the coughing?" he asked. "That doesn't seem to fit in with influenza."

"It seems to be the norm in this particular strain, though," the doctor replied. "The others this morning had the same symptoms. I'm afraid she'll only get worse before she will get better."

"Can you do anything for her?" Toulouse piped in.

"I think the best thing is to let it run its course," the doctor said. "Anything I could give her would take almost as long to help, so I would refrain from doing that."

Zidler nodded. "I'll send Marie over as soon as possible to stay with her," he began, but Christian interrupted.

"No, I…I could take care of her…" All eyes turned to him, and he shifted nervously. "She asked me last night…she didn't want me to leave, and I don't know if…I'm right across the hall, anyways, and it's no trouble…she trusts me, and I don't know who else she trusts," Christian finally finished, feeling his face flush as Zidler stared at him. But the man agreed.

"If you're sure, boy…" he said, and Christian nodded, wondering as he did so what he'd gotten himself into. "Well, that's settled then! The boy will take care of our peach and Marie can take care of the others!"

"That's fine," Christian said, and Zidler and the doctor finished their business and made their way down the stairs. Christian turned to say something to Toulouse, but then he heard Alyse coughing again, and both men hurried into the room to tend to her.

***

The next few days were agonizing for all parties involved. Alyse, at least, was mostly unaware of what was going on--her fever kept her asleep a good part of the time, and when she was awake, she was coughing so hard and so frequently that Christian was afraid her lungs would give out on her. Her spells usually ended with her in tears, and more often than not Christian held her until she fell asleep again. He rarely left her side, because he seemed to be the only one that could comfort her. Toulouse brought food down, and sat with Alyse when Christian went to his room to clean up and change his clothes. Harold Zidler came by a few times a day, usually with Marie in tow, clucking her tongue and fussing over Alyse.

The doctor was right--she did get worse before she got better. On the third day of her illness, her fever rose so high that she barely moved the whole day, save for tossing and turning in the bed. The doctor came and recommended cold cloths on her forehead and plenty of fluids, should she wake up long enough to get anything down. Toulouse ran back and forth all day with the cloths while Christian stroked her warm cheeks and whispered nonsense meant to calm her as the fever ravaged her. All day he ignored his own fears to tend to her. Seeing her this way stirred protective feelings inside of him that he didn't have the time to think about--all he could do was push them aside and promise himself he'd deal with them later.

Christian had fallen asleep in the chair next to her bed that night. He was awakened in the wee hours of the next morning by coughing, and immediately stood, stretching in the process to work the kinks out of his back. He tended to the fireplace, then moved back to Alyse's side and inspected her closely once she'd stopped coughing. She looked up at him, her face still flushed and tired, but she seemed more coherent than she had been earlier. He laid his hand on her forehead and noted with relief that it felt much cooler than before--certainly not as cool as it should be, but she wasn't hot to the touch anymore. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

Alyse tried to speak, but her throat was dry. She managed to say "Water--" and Christian was up and reaching for the carafe before she even finished the word. He brought her a glass and held it to her lips while she drank. "Not too much," he said. "You haven't had anything for days."

She nodded and he set the glass down. "I feel…a little better, I think," she said, her voice scratchy.

Christian brushed his fingers over her forehead again. "You shouldn't talk much," he advised. "You need your rest."

Alyse closed her eyes and burrowed into her pillow. "Christian," she murmured. "Will you sing to me? I don't feel so bad when I hear your voice…" She sighed as Christian pulled his chair closer to her bed and sat. He searched his mind for something to sing to her. Then he remembered something he'd read, and began to sing:

"I took my love and took it down, I climbed a mountain, I turned around. And I saw my reflection in a snow covered hill, 'til a landslide brought it down. Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life? Oh…Well I've been afraid of changing cause I've built my life around you, time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I'm getting older, too…I'm getting older, too…I took my love and took it down, I climbed a mountain, I turned around. And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hill, the landslide brought it down…the landslide brought it down.."

He finished the song and glanced down at her, thinking she'd fallen asleep. But she opened her eyes and stared at him. "My poem," she whispered. "That was one of my poems."

"I know, I…I hope you don't mind…" Oh, he _really_ hoped she wouldn't ask him how he remembered the words. He didn't think he could admit that everything she'd written and let him read was etched into his memory.

She shook her head and closed her eyes again. "No…I can't think of anything better than you singing my poetry."

Her breathing told Christian that she'd fallen asleep, and he watched her for a few more minutes. Her eyelashes were dark against her cheeks, and she looked so vulnerable and young that his heart ached. His resistance crumbled, and he leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then he readjusted her blankets and settled back into his chair.

***

By the next evening, Alyse was sitting in bed, propped up with pillows. She'd had a barrage of visitors, starting with the doctor, followed by Harold and Marie, Toulouse, then the doctor once again. He'd announced that she was on the road to recovery, but still needed to stay in bed a few more days. She hadn't put up a fuss, because she was exhausted and still coughing. After everyone had left she was ready to call it a day, but Christian apparently had other ideas. She'd not been alone for five minutes when he came through the doorway carrying a wooden tray. "Soup," he announced, bringing it over and setting it on the table next to her bed. "It's good for what ails you." He handed her a bowl and spoon, then removed the tray, set a cup of tea in its place, and sat down in a chair across the room. He picked up his own bowl and glanced at her. "Go on, eat," he said, a stern look on his face that gave way to a grin when she rolled her eyes at him. "Just be careful, it's still hot."

Dutifully she lifted her bowl and blew on the soup for a moment. A question was nagging at her, and she had to ask him. "Christian, how long was I sick?" She'd lost all track of days during her illness, and still wasn't sure what day it was--no one had thought to tell her _that_.

He thought for a minute, then said, "This is the fifth day. Not so long, considering how sick you were."

Alyse nodded, then asked, "And you've been here…the whole time?"

Christian swallowed some soup and then said, "Yes…well…someone had to take care of you, and I'm just right across the way…" His voice trailed off and his eyes met hers.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded, focusing his attention on his soup once again. She picked up her spoon, but did nothing with it for a moment. She couldn't believe that he'd sat with her for four days while she wandered in and out of consciousness, coughing and sniffling and crying. He was _so_ sweet and kind hearted, she thought, lifting her spoon to her lips. It was no wonder she loved him…

She gave a little gasp at that thought, and Christian glanced at her. "Are you all right?"

Alyse nodded. "I just--burnt my tongue, is all," she lied.

Christian laughed. "I told you it was hot!" He shook his head and gave her his sweet smile--the smile, she'd noticed, that he only used with her--and she swore she felt her heart flip over in her chest.

She could have blamed her thoughts on the fever, but her temperature had been near normal most of the day. She could have said it was just a feeling of gratitude to him, that she was confusing it with something else. But deep down, she knew she had to face the truth. She had gone and done the very thing she'd been warning herself against since the day she had met him.

She'd fallen in love with Christian.

-----------

[song:

Landslide-Fleetwood Mac/Smashing Pumpkins]

-----------

[ a/n: I think I probably invented a strain of the flu here--please chalk it up to artistic license. And also, I credit artistic license for Toulouse still being alive ;) I should have mentioned that sooner but forgot. Thanks for all the reviews, keep them coming! : ) ]


	14. Tumbling Down

Alyse had always figured that when she fell in love, it would be a wonderful thing. She'd assumed it would be sunshine and roses, happiness and joy, true love forever.

She was quickly discovering that _really_ falling in love was nothing like she'd ever dreamed.

Oh, she still felt all the swirling emotions, the giddy excitement--but it was tempered with the knowledge that she could never tell Christian of her feelings. She knew that as well as she knew her own name. Nothing had changed his opinions on love, and she doubted anything could. He didn't believe in it anymore, and she was going to have to deal with her emotions on her own.

She decided that the best thing to do was to get over him. But that was hard to do when she saw him every day, especially since he didn't realize that anything had changed. She felt like she was acting every hour of the day once rehearsals were back in swing. Onstage, she was Julia, the young woman in love with a man who couldn't love her back, and in real life…she was a young woman in love with a man who couldn't love her back. Each time she spoke her lines, the irony never failed to twist a knife into her heart.

Alyse sat in her dressing room two weeks before the play was to open. It had been pushed back due to the sickness of much of the cast, but nearly everyone had recovered and rehearsals were back on. Her strength was still not at one hundred percent, however, and so she was taking a much-needed break between scenes. She sat in her chair in front of her mirror and stared at her face. She wondered if she looked any different to anyone else, now that she was in love. She certainly felt different. Her heart had never felt so confused before in her whole life.

"I'm so scared that the way that I feel is written all over my face. When you walk into the room, I wanna find a hiding place. We used to laugh, we used to hug, the way that old friends do, but now a smile and a touch of your hand just makes me come unglued...it's such a contradiction, do I lie or tell the truth? Is it fact or fiction, the way I feel for you? It's so complicated, I'm so frustrated, I wanna hold you close, I wanna push you away, I wanna make you go, I wanna make you stay…should I say it, should I tell you how I feel? Oh, I want you to know…but then again I don't…it's so complicated…Oh, it's so confusing…I wish you'd just confess…but think of what I'd be losing if your answer wasn't yes…it's so complicated, I hate it, 'cause I've waited so long for someone like you…"

"Singing for your lonely musician?" asked a voice from the doorway, and Alyse spun in her chair to see Jerome posed in the frame, arms crossed over his chest. "Your penniless sitar player? Or is he just a penniless poet these days?"

She stared at him, struggling to keep her composure. "What are you talking about?"

He sighed and moved into the room. "Oh, Alyse, you think you hide it so well, but I can see it."

"Jerome, I really don't think--" she started.

"You mean to tell me that you're not in love with Christian?"

Alyse picked up her brush and began brushing her hair, willing her fingers not to shake. "Jerome, are you really so shocked that I don't return your affections that you would make up ridiculous stories to soothe your wounded pride?"

He laughed. "Oh, I don't think it's a story. You have no idea how your eyes light up when he looks at you."

She couldn't fight off the blush that stole into her cheeks at his words. "You don't know what you're talking about," she muttered.

"Ahh, but I do." Jerome moved in front of her and bent his face close to hers. "He'll break your heart, you know," he said softly, running a finger along her cheek. She fought the impulse to duck away from his hand and met his eyes steadily. "And when he does, you'll come find me." He straightened up and gave her what he must have thought was a meaningful look as he left the room, but all it did was make her skin crawl.

"Don't count on it," she said to herself, looking into her reflection once more. Was she so transparent? If Jerome could see it, who was to say that Christian didn't either? She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer that he didn't know. She would die if he did.

***

Christian didn't know what was wrong with Alyse, but he knew something was bothering her. At first he chalked it up to jitters over the opening of the show, which was fast approaching. But she knew her part, and knew it well. And she never seemed to be nervous on the stage. She only acted strangely around him, and he couldn't put his finger on the reason.

Though it shouldn't have come as a surprise, because he certainly felt on edge around her these days. He'd promised himself he'd think over his feelings about her once she was over her illness and life was back to normal, but every time his mind strayed toward that particular subject, he efficiently closed the door on those thoughts and focused on something else, _anything_ else. Only at night, when he lay in his bed in his quiet garret, did he let himself think about her even the smallest bit. He'd grown used to being with her while she'd been sick. For one whole week, he'd spent each night in her room, listening to her breathe, move in her bed, make noises in her sleep. Now it was impossible to sleep in his own bed, in this terrible, oppressive silence. He missed knowing there was someone else nearby, someone else sharing the same space as him.

And he fought against those feelings of longing with every fiber of his being, because he knew they only led to heartache and pain.

The day that Jerome confronted Alyse about Christian, she had come home and gone straight to her room. It wasn't abnormal for her to do that; she didn't always come to see him right away anymore. He didn't like the change, but had decided that perhaps it was best all around. He didn't want to grow too attached to her, and maybe she felt the same. Nevertheless, he missed her, and so he decided he'd go to her room for once.

He found her sitting at her table, feet crossed under her chair, hands idly picking pins out of her hair as she scribbled away on a piece of paper. He watched her and indulged himself, just for a moment, in noticing the curve of her neck; her smooth, creamy skin that always seemed to hold a hint of a blush in her cheeks; the way her hair fell into her face as it tumbled free of the pins.

Then she glanced up and met his eyes. They both flushed--he, because of the thoughts he'd allowed himself to have, she, apparently because of what she was writing. She dropped her pencil and covered the paper, then must have realized that looked strange, because she then pulled her hands away and folded them on the table. She was still covering the paper, but managed to look less suspicious.

Christian couldn't help asking her about it, though. Perhaps it was to cover his own discomfort, perhaps it was nosiness, but she had him curious now. "What are you writing?"

Alyse cleared her throat. "Um, just some poetry," she said, trying to sound nonchalant and failing miserably.

"Can I read it?" God, he didn't know what was possessing him to pursue this conversation--it was clear she was uncomfortable, but some childish part of him wanted to know what she was hiding from him.

"Well, I…it's…just about love…"

He waved his hand. "Never mind, I'm sorry, it's none of my business." They were both silent for a minute, him staring out her window, her staring at him, and then he suddenly turned his eyes back on her and blurted out, "It's not about _Jerome_, is it?"

Her eyes widened as she burst out laughing. "Oh, Christian! Don't you think I have more taste than that? Jerome!" Suddenly she couldn't stop giggling, and the sound of it was infectious. His laughter mingled with hers, and for a few short hours, things were right again between them.

Christian should have known it wouldn't last long.

***

Harold Zidler decided to throw a party in the garden of the Rouge a little under two weeks before the play was to open. "Because we've all been working so hard, chickpeas, and we deserve a little playtime!" he announced at the end of rehearsals that day. He instructed everyone to change clothes and be outside as quickly as possible, then went dashing off to supervise the festivities.

Christian gathered up his papers and slipped quietly out of the building. He didn't feel like attending some party in the garden--too much noise, too many people. He thought he would just go home and spend some time alone. Not that he didn't get plenty of that, anyways, but--

"Christian!"

He turned at the sound of Alyse's voice, and stopped when he saw her dashing out of the Rouge after him. She was a little breathless as she came to a stop in front of him. "Where are you going?" she asked, grabbing a hold of his arm.

He ignored the heat from her fingertips and focused instead on answering her question. "Home," he replied.

Her grip tightened on his arm. "You're not coming to the party?" she said, pouting a little.

Christian looked down into her eyes and felt his resolve weaken. "Well, it'll just be loud, and lots of…"

"Fun, Christian! It'll be fun!" Alyse exclaimed, taking his other arm and shaking it. "You need to have fun every now and again, you know! Please? Will you come?"

He stifled a sigh. How was it he could never say no to her? "All right, I'll go," he said. "Just let me go drop off my papers at home."

Alyse gave him a stern look. "You had better come back, or I'll send someone after you," she said, letting go of him to put her hands on her hips.

"You're not coming to change your clothes?"

She smiled mischievously. "No, I have something here to wear," she said vaguely, then pushed at him. "Well, go on then, and hurry back!"

Christian laughed and made his way to their building, up the stairs and into his room. Once inside, he realized she was right: he didn't need to be cooped up in here all night, wallowing in self pity, when he could be enjoying himself just across the street with friends. He dropped his papers on the table and headed down the stairs and back across the street.

He could hear the party before he could see it. Loud music came from the garden--it sounded as though Zidler had brought the orchestra outside for the festivities. Christian stepped into the middle of the throng of people and looked around. Everywhere he turned there was dancing, and drinking, and food, and just for a moment the colours swirled around him, making him dizzy, taking him back seven years in time, to his first visit to the Rouge--back when his world was still innocent and young. Then he heard his name on a shout and he came sharply back to the present, turning in the direction of the voice and seeing Toulouse waving a bottle of absinthe at him. "Christian! Over here!"

Christian made his way through the scads of people and nearly fell into the chair that the Argentinean offered him. He laughed as Toulouse poured drinks for everyone at the table--the doctor was there, and even Jerome had pulled up a chair--and the men toasted anything and everything as the music throbbed around them.

He was on his fourth glass of absinthe in thirty minutes and was feeling quite pleased with the world when the music suddenly stopped. The group of people in the garden let up a collective groan, and Harold Zidler stepped up and waved his arms for quiet. Then, with a grin on his face, he whispered, "The can-can."

The music started again, music that hadn't been played anywhere near or in the Rouge in years, and the crowd of dancers and actors and musicians cheered. Christian stared as a group of women came out onto the makeshift stage in front of the orchestra. They were headed up by Nini--Christian sometimes forgot that she was still there, because they always took pains to avoid each other--and Alyse.

__

Alyse.

She was dressed up like a proper can-can girl--rather, a proper Moulin Rouge can-can girl. She wore the ruffly skirt with the layers of petticoats, the lace corset, the black hose and--oh, yes, she had on the right undergarments, as well, that was clear when she kicked up her legs. All Christian could do was watch and drink as she ran around the stage with the rest of the girls, flashing their skirts, dancing, shouting. Once again he felt the colours spinning around him, sucking him into the brightness and twisting him inside out, but this time he knew where he was, knew who he was looking at.

And she must have known he was watching, because she winked at him right before she flipped up her skirts as the song ended.

All the men at the table hooted and applauded except for Christian, who grabbed for the bottle of absinthe and splashed another generous helping into his glass. He drank it quickly, hoping the sting on his throat would shake him back into reality. Then he realized that all it did was blur the edges of his mind even more.

The Argentinean slapped him on the back. "Who knew she could do that?" he said.

The men all stared as Alyse talked with Nini and the other girls. Someone brought them all glasses of absinthe, and Alyse tossed hers back with reckless abandon. She laughed at something Nini said, and they both glanced at the men.

"See what I mean? Staring at you since you came out here," Nini repeated, inclining her head towards Christian. Alyse locked eyes with him and felt heat rush through her body. The look in his eyes…she hadn't seen it before, and her nerves leapt with excitement. Nini gave her a knowing smile and grabbed her hand, pulling her over to the table. "And how are you boys tonight, mm?" she asked, settling herself in the Argentinean's lap.

"Alyse, you were marvelous!" Toulouse exclaimed.

She beamed at him. "Thank you, Toulouse," she said, leaning down and kissing his cheek. Everybody hooted again, then Christian asked, "When did you learn to do that?"

"I've been teaching her, of course," Nini replied. "She picked it up real quick, all right."

Alyse was feeling brave--due to the alcohol, she was sure, but it didn't really matter why--and held out her hand to Christian. "Come on, Christian. Come dance with me."

He stared at her hand and then looked at her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. Tendrils of hair fell into her face, having slipped out of her bun while she was dancing. She wiggled her fingers at him and smiled, and he decided to throw all caution to the wind. He stood up, taking her hand, and spun her out onto the dance floor.

And they stayed there for the next few hours. If he was going to disregard all reason, he decided he wanted to do it right, and he didn't dance with anyone else but Alyse. She didn't dance with anyone else, either, and he knew he probably should be concerned that people would have a lot to say about this in the morning, but he was full of absinthe and just couldn't care too much. Not with her laughing face so close to his, her small body twisting and spinning in his arms, her smell drifting across his senses…

It was when Christian was holding Alyse close, dancing too slowly to an upbeat song, that he finally recognized the feeling that had been twisting his stomach into knots all night: lust. Well, no wonder he hadn't figured it out sooner--he hadn't desired anybody in years. But this…this was more than just simple desire, more than the need for skin on skin…this mingled with all of the feelings he'd been ignoring, the romantic notions he hadn't wanted to deal with. He supposed it made sense that he could think about this now, and feel somewhat unattached from it all--his head was swimming and his senses were on overload, so it was easy to admit that maybe, in some part of his heart that he'd locked away years ago, he was starting to feel again. Feelings…that sometimes, if the situation was right, could lead to love…

He suddenly realized that they weren't moving at all anymore, and the music hadn't slowed any, and his fingers were grazing over her bare shoulders…she was looking up into his eyes, and he knew if he didn't let go of her _right now,_ didn't stop drowning in her blue gaze, he was going to do something insane, like kiss her in front of all of these people…

Christian cleared his throat and let her go. "I, uh…it's getting late, I think I should be going…"

Alyse blinked. What had just happened? She couldn't take the time to think about it, because he was backing away, and she didn't want to stay if he was leaving. She decided to play the only card she had left. "Christian, could you wait just a minute while I get my things? I don't want to walk home alone, I think…I've had too much to drink…"

He turned and looked at her, and she put on her best pitiful face. It was horrible of her, really, but she _was_ a little unsteady on her feet, and she _didn't_ want to walk home alone.

"All right," he said, and she dashed off as well as she could on watery knees to get her clothes and bag.

As she came back out of the Rouge and into the garden with her belongings, Jerome grabbed her arm. "You know he's only after one thing," he told her.

She yanked her arm away. "And you're _not_?" she hissed.

"At least I'm honest about it," he replied.

Alyse shook her head. "Leave me alone, Jerome. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." She walked off before he could reply.

Christian must have seen the irritation on her face, because as she approached, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Yes, let's just go," she said, slipping her hand into his arm. They left the garden and moved through the grounds of the Rouge, distancing themselves from the music. The night was quiet, and they made their way across the street and into their building.

By the time they reached the stairway, Alyse was giggling again. Her feet didn't want to cooperate and she was clinging to Christian's arm as they made their way up the steps.

It was quite innocent how it happened--her foot slipped as she lifted it--but all of a sudden she lost her balance, and fell down onto the steps, Christian falling with her as she still had a hold of his arm. They didn't hurt themselves in the tumble, but it was how they landed that was the trouble--she was sprawled on her back on the steps, and he was on top of her. The situation didn't strike her as anything but funny, and her head fell back as she laughed helplessly.

Christian glanced up at her and realized that this time, he couldn't fight temptation. He brought his lips to her neck, tracing a damp path across the soft, smooth skin, breathing in her scent--flowers and soft heat and…just _her_. He kissed the line of her jaw, soft little nips that drew a whimper from her. His mouth hovered over hers, just a breath away, and he captured her lips with his before reason could take hold of his alcohol soaked brain again.

For a split second she thought that maybe she was having an absinthe induced hallucination, but then little things told her that wasn't the case--the pressure of his body on hers, the trembling of his hand as it slipped into her hair, the sweet taste of his mouth. She didn't want to breathe, lest she disturb the absolute perfection of the moment.

But she must have, because suddenly he was pulling away, standing up, running his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered, pulling her up and taking his hand away quickly once she was standing.

"Sorry?" Alyse repeated, trying to understand.

"We're both--we've had a lot to drink tonight, and that was…that was a mistake, and I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…to take advantage…"

"Mistake?" she said. It seemed all she could do was echo him.

Christian met her eyes. "Yes. A mistake. And I'm sorry for it." He pushed past her and started up the stairs again.

She opened her mouth before she thought better of it. "Do you know what I think, Christian?"

He didn't stop walking, so she followed him up the steps. "No, but I'm sure you'll tell me."

Oh, she would tell him, all right. "I think you're afraid."

He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes dark with irritation. "Excuse me?"

She should have heard the warning and stopped, but there was still too much alcohol in her system for that. "I think you're afraid of what you feel for me, to let me get too close to you because of what you _could_ feel for me."

He shook his head against her words, wondering how on earth she could know what he'd been thinking earlier. "You don't know anything," he said.

"I know you think that love doesn't exist anymore, but _I_ think you're just afraid of it," she said, still dogging his steps.

He'd reached the landing on their floor and turned to look at her. "What's love got to do with it?" he demanded, trying to push away his nerves. "What's love but a second hand emotion?"

Alyse shook her head. "Someone told me love would all save us," she said.

"But how can that be?" Christian replied, throwing up his arms. "Look what love gave us--a world full of killing, and blood spilling, that world never came."

"Christian…" Oh, well, she'd come this far, she might as well take it all the way and see what he would do. "Love is like oxygen."

He stared at her as his breath hitched in his chest. What in the hell was she doing?

"Love is a many splendored thing," she continued, keeping her eyes on his. "Love lifts us up where we belong." She paused, then finished. "_All you need is love._"

He was crossing the space between them as she spoke the last words, and his words came right on the tail end of hers. "Love is just a _game!_" His voice rose and shook on the last word, and he hated himself for it. Swearing under his breath, he pulled her against him and kissed her. He fought his emotions, fought her sweetness, and concentrated on keeping the kiss hard and cold.

Alyse pulled away, stunned, and he tipped up her chin, making her look into his eyes. "See?" he said in a cool voice. "Just a game."

He turned and started for his room, and had his fingers on the doorknob when she found her voice. "She wouldn't want you to live like this."

Christian's hand paused, and he turned slowly to look at her. "What?" he said, that deadly calm still in his voice.

Alyse cleared her throat. "She wouldn't--Satine wouldn't want you to live like this. You're letting fear run your life."

"Fear? Fear of what?" He asked, even as the emotion in question sprang up inside of him. She was too close to the truth for his comfort.

She sighed. "Fear of _love_, Christian. Of emotion. And that's not fair, to you or to her. How are you honouring her memory if you won't go on with your life? She would want you to find love again, to be happy. Why _won't_ you?" She knew it was unfair, even selfish to ask him; she _shouldn't _have asked him. But she couldn't help herself. She was sick of hiding her feelings, and she suddenly just didn't care if he knew.

He stared at her for a moment, and she could practically see the fight drain out of him. He reached out for the wall behind him and then sagged against it. He slid to the floor and pillowed his face in his arms for a moment. She watched him, stunned into silence once again, as his body shook with memories.

Finally, Christian looked up, and the bleakness in his eyes broke her heart for the thousandth time. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat and started again, his voice soft and edged with pain. "Have you ever held someone in your arms as they died? Someone you loved with all your heart…someone you would give your life to save? You can't…I felt her last breath, Alyse, I felt it shudder out of her body, I saw her eyes…she _died_ in my _arms,_ and you ask me why I can't…" He shook his head. "I _can't_ love. It's not won't, it's can't. I can't…I never want to feel that way again. And love is too much of a risk…

Alyse sat down next to him and pulled him into her arms, holding him tightly as he wept. She was suddenly very sober and very sorry that she'd started this whole conversation. His head rested on her shoulder, and she pulled back to tell him that she was sorry for hurting him, and he pressed his cheek to hers instead. She felt his salty tears on her face and couldn't stop herself from kissing his cheek, trying to wipe away the evidence of his pain. Maybe she moved, or perhaps it was him, but their lips met again, clinging, desperate, so bittersweet that she had to stifle her own sob. She knew what it meant, knew what he was saying even without the words, and she shook her head as he drew back. He rested his forehead against hers and spoke anyways. "I can't, Alyse, I just…I just _can't_. It hurts too much…"

She nodded, biting her lip against the acid tears that wanted to fall. She couldn't say anything, she just kept nodding.

"God…" he whispered, and his hands still betrayed what he was telling her by touching her face, running up and down her arms.

"Don't…please don't," Alyse finally managed to say around the lump in her throat. She shook her head and his hands fell away. "Please don't make it harder than it is…"

He was the one to nod this time, but then he spoke again. "If only we'd met some other time…"

"Christian, _please,_" she said, her voice choked. "Don't do that, don't 'what if' this away. We could what if forever--what if you'd never come to Paris, what if Satine had never died, what if I were older, or you younger…" She broke off, realizing she was doing what she'd asked him not to do. "Nothing can change things, no matter what either of us _says_. You can't love, and I…I feel too much." She backed away from him, paying no attention to the painful scraping of the wooden floor against her legs, and stood up on shaky legs. He stood too, and their eyes met. Hers were brimming with tears, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and wipe them away, but knew he couldn't do that. He couldn't say one thing and then do another. It wasn't fair to either of them.

"I'm…I'm sorry that I started this, I'm sorry…that I said anything…" She held her hand to her lips, and he did reach out this time, touching her arm, and she shook his hand off, just as he expected. "No, I…I have to…good night, Christian…"

She turned and focused all of her attention on making her feet work, on getting to her door, and then opening it. She didn't look back at him, but felt his eyes on her, and her fingers shook as she fit the key into the lock and then opened the door. The minute it closed, she collapsed against it, hands against her mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that wanted to rip out of her chest. She didn't want him to hear her, and she knew he would if he hadn't gone into his room yet. The tears coursed down her cheeks, unstoppable, burning a hot path that told her at least she was still alive, even though she felt dead inside.

After a few minutes, the sobs lessened and instead, words poured from her lips. "Gee, but it's hard, when one lowers one's guard to the vultures…now me, I regard it a torturous hardship that smolders…like a peppermint eaten away, will I fight, will I swagger, or sway? Tee hee milady, she cries like a baby, scold us…see her tumbling down," she sang bitterly, tears trembling on her lashes, "see her tumbling down…"

"…wasted and sunk, he can only have Sunday communion," Christian sang as he leaned out of his window, staring out at Paris through blurry eyes. "He's got nicotine stains in his eyes, he's got nothing to protect but his pride…oh, smothered a kiss or be drowned in blissful confusion…see her tumbling down, see her tumbling down…"

--------------------

[songs used:  
Complicated-Carolyn Dawn Johnson  
What's Love Got to do With it-Tina Turner  
Hero-Chad Kroeger feat. Josey Scott  
Elephant Love Medley-Moulin Rouge soundtrack *don't feel like listing each song!*  
Tumbling Down-The Venus in Furs feat. Jonathan Rhys Meyers *no idea who did the original, if anyone knows, tell me!*]


	15. A Wicked Game

[a/n: I altered they lyrics to one of the songs used in this chapter because it fits the story better. Hope everybody likes, this chapter gave me some issues ;) ]

----------------

The next week and a half passed in a blur for Alyse. She attended rehearsals, she played her part. She sang, she danced, she smiled. She ate, drank, breathed, put one foot in front of the other when she walked. But she wasn't really living any longer--not on the inside, not where it mattered the most.

She went through the motions: speaking to other people, laughing in the right spots. But deep inside, she was hollow. Her heart ached completely, every hour, every day, and the pain never went away. She was fine when she was onstage--she could immerse herself in her character and pretend that the pain she felt was only an act, only an extension of Julia. Once the makeup was off, however, and she was in her room, staring at the shut door, the feelings closed in, choking her, making her feel like nothing in the world could possibly be more wretched than her life. She spent most of her nights curled up on her bed, looking out her windows and wondering how the world could go on while her whole life was shattered, or writing miserable poetry. She avoided Christian at all costs during the day, and it seemed like he tried to avoid her as well. Of course, there were times when they had to speak--he was, after all, the writer and co-director of the play, and it was necessary for her to have his input. But they never exchanged more than a few words, and never met each other's eyes. Alyse figured if she looked at him, she might break down, and she only did that when she was alone.

She had decided one important thing, however. Once the show was over, she was leaving Paris. She didn't know where she was going; she just knew that she couldn't stay in the same city as Christian. Even if they never saw each other, just knowing he was nearby would be torture enough, and she didn't know if her heart could handle that much longer.

***

Alyse tried not to watch Christian as she stood on the stage, waiting for Jerome to come out for rehearsal. But she couldn't help it. He wasn't standing very far from her, yet he could have been light-years away. The conscious effort they both made to speak only rarely was beginning to take its toll on her, and perhaps that was why it irritated her so to see one of the girls with a small part in the play stroll up to Christian and pretend as though she was having trouble with her two lines. He was oblivious as usual, but Alyse could see it in the way the girl looked at him, in her body language--she was definitely interested in him.

The girl laughed at something Christian said, and Alyse felt an irrational anger building inside her. Not anger at the girl, but anger at Christian. Oh, it was silly to be angry at him, he clearly had no clue what was going on--but that was what bothered her the most. How could someone who wrote so knowledgably about love be so blind to it? How could a man who wrote such beautiful words not believe a bit of them? She sighed as the anger faded back to its usual dull ache, and then jumped as she felt a hand on her arm.

"You're staring, you know," Jerome pointed out.

She pulled away from him. "Are you finally through primping, so we can get on with the rehearsal? We _do_ open in two days, you know." She tossed her hair over her shoulder and strode away from him, chastising herself for taking her annoyance out on him. It wasn't like her to be so rude to people. Then again, she wasn't quite sure who she was anymore.

Alyse was in her dressing room that afternoon when her self control took a huge blow. Marie was helping her out of her costume, chattering away about the play and how she knew it was all going to turn out wonderfully, when Alyse heard a laugh in the hallway--female, and she couldn't determine who it belonged to. But the laugh that followed she could have recognized in her sleep. It was Christian, and the sound struck her like a physical blow to the chest. She began to shake, and she had to lean forward and brace her hands on the dressing table in order to keep her balance.

Marie gave her a worried look. "Lovey, are you all right?"

Alyse straightened and nodded. It was silly to get so emotional over hearing his laugh. She commanded herself to pull it together, and had almost managed to quell the shakes when she heard his voice outside the door. The words were indistinct, but it was Christian nonetheless. Perhaps it was the stress of rehearsals and the opening of the show approaching, or the misery over her unrequited love, but suddenly Alyse found herself turning to Marie and sobbing on the woman's shoulder. She didn't have to explain why, and she couldn't have anyways, because she was hiccupping and whimpering as Marie rubbed her back and cooed nonsense. After a few minutes, she calmed down enough to allow Marie to sit her down on a chair. "Now you wait here, lovey, while I run and get you some tea," she said, and bustled out of the room.

Christian was at the end of the hallway talking with Toulouse when Marie hurried by. She stopped long enough to glare at him and say, "You ought to be ashamed of yourself, what you've done to that poor girl," before hustling past.

They stared after her. "What is she talking about?" Toulouse wondered, and Christian looked down the hall in the direction Marie had come from. The door to Alyse's dressing room was tightly shut, and he wondered if she was all right.

"Are you coming, Christian?" Toulouse asked, and Christian waved a hand at him. "Go on, I'll be along in a minute," he told his friend, and Toulouse nodded and headed back out to the stage area. He glanced back at Christian before he left the hallway, shaking his head as he disappeared through the doorway.

Christian stood for a moment, not sure what to do. He was concerned about Alyse, and yet he knew it wasn't his place to worry over her. He'd made it quite clear that he wanted no romantic involvement with her. He just hadn't counted on losing her completely in the process. It was likely the best arrangement, anyways--cutting off all ties completely, but the more he tried to tell his heart that, the more it tried to tell him that he'd made a horrible mistake.

He found himself at her dressing room door before he even realized he'd taken the steps. He raised a hand, not sure if he wanted to knock, and then he heard it--sniffles coming from the room. She was crying. He pressed a hand against the door, as if that could soothe her, and then was startled by someone pushing him away. "The last thing she needs right now is you!" Marie chided, holding a cup of tea. "Go on, she doesn't need to see you!"

Christian backed away from the door, and Marie slipped inside, shutting it behind her. He slowly made his way back out into the theatre, mumbling some excuse to Toulouse about why he couldn't go wherever it was they had been going--he certainly couldn't remember now--and making his way home. Once there, he sat at his chair in front of his typewriter. Oh, how he wanted to write, to work out these miserable feelings that were burning inside of him. But the words wouldn't come. So he stared at the doorway instead, waiting for Alyse to come home. He figured they needed to talk things through, and this was as good a time as any.

She ran up the steps an hour later, dashing into her room before Christian had the chance to call out to her. He got up, intent upon knocking on her door and speaking with her, but she came right back out just as he was entering the hallway. They both stopped and stared at each other. Her face was pale, her eyes red, but it was the look in them that had him concerned--such a bitter sadness. When had this happened to her? Was this his fault? Shame washed over him, and he opened his mouth to speak. "Alyse--"

She shook her head, walking briskly to the stairs. "Not now, Christian," she said. "I don't have time." He watched her walk up the steps to Toulouse's. He stared after her long after she'd disappeared before going back into his room, where he paced and argued with himself for the next hour, finally deciding to go on up himself. It couldn't hurt anything, and besides, he'd like to see Toulouse. That was the excuse he used, anyways, as he pulled himself up the staircase.

***

Jerome had met Alyse as soon as she'd walked into Toulouse's room. He'd persuaded her to come when Toulouse had invited her earlier, after her crying spell. She'd agreed, because after pouring out all of those emotions, she'd been left feeling brittle and hollow. She was hoping that some drinking and dancing could make her feel _something_ again.

But all it was doing was making her dizzy. She knew she'd had too much absinthe, and had tried to tell Jerome that she didn't want any more after the fourth glass, but he didn't listen well, and she didn't seem to have much willpower. She didn't feel much like dancing now, either, but he insisted upon spinning her around the room, and all she could do was laugh and hold onto him. She wondered if that was his plan, but didn't think about it too long. She thought she deserved to be a little reckless, and Jerome certainly was a reckless choice.

He had her down in a low dip for the end of a song when they both saw Christian step into the room. Alyse straightened too quickly and felt the room tilt. 

"Oh, how kind of your poet to stop by," Jerome said disdainfully, his arm tightening around Alyse's waist.

"Not my poet," she muttered, willing her head to settle down.

"Really?" Jerome countered, turning her body so that she was pressed close to him. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth across her cheek, his breath warm as he whispered, "Why don't you prove it." He started to move slowly to the music playing, holding her against him, and Alyse closed her eyes briefly. Oh, if only she could just forget who he was, who he wasn't, and just give herself over for a while. She was so lonely, felt so lost. Jerome was handsome, charming, talented…he was interested in her, that was no mistake. She knew he could make her feel alive with just one kiss. He…

…He wasn't Christian.

She opened her eyes and stared into Jerome's. They were brown. She longed for green eyes, soft, laughing green eyes. "No," she whispered, and pushed away from him.

Jerome's eyes flashed. He grabbed her arm before she could go far, and she tried to wrench away, but his grip was too strong. "He doesn't _care_, Alyse," he hissed. She shook her head, still trying to get out of his grasp, but he only pulled her closer and held her in place.

"Pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything, pretty soon she'll figure out what his intentions were about," he sang, his deep voice mocking her. "And that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head, and that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head…it's the way that he makes you feel, it's the way that he kisses you, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…"  


"Jerome…stop," Alyse whispered, but he ignored her, circling her as he sang, forcing her to turn her head as he moved, taunting her with words.

"She's beautiful as usual with bruises on her ego and her killer instinct tells her to be aware of evil men, and that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head, and that's what you get for falling again, you can never get him out of your head…it's the way that he makes you feel, it's the way that he kisses you, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…"

The more he moved, the more had to turn to follow him, and the room was starting to spin slowly as he continued with his song. Suddenly he stopped and put his lips close to her ear. "Pretty girl, pretty girl…pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything, pretty soon she'll figure out you can never get him out of your head…it's the way that he makes you cry, it's the way that he's in your mind, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…love…"

His words were swirling in Alyse's mind as he finally let go of her arm. She moved away from him as quickly as she could manage on shaky legs, and Jerome laughed at her back. "Running away, pretty girl? It's only the truth," he called after her, and she shook her head against his voice. All she wanted to do was go back to her room and collapse on her bed. Her head hurt, she was so dizzy, she couldn't get the words to go away…

__

Pretty girl is suffering, while he confesses everything…

She pushed her way through people, no one paying any attention to her since they were all as drunk as she was. She just needed to get to the door, get out of the crowd, be alone where she could clear her mind…there was so much noise, so much light, it was all hurting her head…

__

It's the way that he makes you cry, it's the way that he's in your mind, it's the way that he makes you fall in love…

__

I can't love…I never want to feel that way again…It hurts too much…

She bit her lip as Christian's voice slipped into her mind, and she shook her head, willing it away. She looked up as she bumped into someone…looked up into green eyes…soft green eyes that used to look at her with laughter, but now were only filled with concern. Christian. She blinked at him. He was saying something to her, but she couldn't hear any words, only could see his mouth moving. It was so strange--everything felt like slow motion to her. His movements were slow, exaggerated, and she blinked again, trying to stop the black fog that was creeping across her line of vision. It was no use, though--she felt her knees buckle, and she was enveloped in the dark mist that had been reaching out to her since she'd started for the door.

Alyse pitched forward into Christian's arms, and he just barely caught her before she hit the floor. He stared down at her for a moment, at her pale face that still seemed pained even while she was unconscious, and then glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else had seen. The only person that was looking in their direction was Jerome, and he raised his glass to Christian with a sneer before turning and walking away. Christian felt fury snap to life inside of him, then fade as he realized that, while Jerome had probably been the one to give Alyse whatever it was that had put her in this state, it was certainly as much his own fault for causing her to drink that much.

Christian picked Alyse up and carried her downstairs and into her room. He didn't bother with her clothes--he didn't think she'd be so appreciative of him undressing her as she had been before--and instead pulled back her covers and laid her gently on the bed. She shifted and moaned, her eyes fluttering open. They met his and she moaned again. "Please go," she whispered, her voice thick.

This time it was guilt that clutched at his chest, and he pulled her blankets up, tucking them about her shoulders as he had when she was sick. His fingers accidentally brushed against her arm and she recoiled, snatching the blankets out of his hands. "Do you…do you need anything?" he asked her, stepping away from the bed, feeling utterly useless.

"Leave," she said bluntly, shutting her eyes and turning her head. "I need you to leave. I can't…I can't look at you. Please, just go."

Christian stared at the back of her head and realized that he was at least still able to feel pain--her words cut him to the bone. He nodded, mostly to himself since she couldn't see him, and made his way to the door. He paused and looked back at her. This _was_ all his fault, he knew. If she'd never met him, none of this would have happened. Her life would still be happy and carefree--she wouldn't know of the miseries a person's heart could cause them. He didn't know if he'd ever hated himself more than he did right then as he slipped out of her room, shutting the door behind him.

Alyse heard the quiet click as the door closed softly, and was finally able to let the tears seep out from behind her closed eyelids.

***

She awoke the next morning with a raging headache and a bitter knot in her stomach. She blamed them both on Christian--he was an easy target and he was, after all, the cause of all of her pain, which had been the cause of her drinking…

Alyse knew she was rationalizing, and it was unfair of her, but she couldn't be bothered with fairness when her entire soul was devoid of all feeling except pain. It didn't make for a pleasant mindset, and she headed for the Rouge that morning with an unusually bad disposition.

It came out in words, a jumble of them that crowded her mind until she had to take action. She stole one of Christian's pencils and a piece of his paper--taking some satisfaction in the theft, even though she knew he'd never be able to tell, or care, for that matter. In between scenes she scribbled out a song on the paper, scratching out lines and adding new ones, hiding the page in her script when she was needed onstage.

By the end of the day she had it all worked out, and was feeling much better, having gotten her thoughts out. She was reading it over when Harold Zidler's voice startled her. "What is that, my peach?"

She spun and tried to hide the paper behind her back, but he was surprisingly fast and took it. His face lit up as he read. "You wrote this, my little dove?" he exclaimed.

Alyse began shaking her head. "Yes, but really, Harold, it's private…"

"Nonsense!!" he cried, grabbing her arm. "Come, come, you must sing this for the others. We could use a break from the show, and rehearsals are over for today, anyways, so let's hear you sing for us! Something different!" He pulled her out onto the stage, ignoring her protests, and thrust her out into the center. "Everybody, our Alyse has written a song, and she's going to sing it for us now! Let's all give her our attention, shall we?"

She stared at Zidler and he smiled brightly. "Go on, peach, we're all anxious to hear it!"

Alyse clasped her hands in front of her and looked out across the seats. She wasn't nervous anymore on the stage--she'd lost that feeling long ago--but now it felt like a swarm of butterflies were in her stomach. She could see Christian, sitting with Toulouse and the Argentinean, and knew that he would realize what the song was about…_who_ it was about. She turned back to Harold. "Honestly, Harold, no one wants to hear--"

"Nonsense! We can all do with hearing something that isn't from the show!. Dazzle us!"

She hung her head in defeat, and prayed that Christian wouldn't hate her too terribly when she was done. She closed her eyes for a moment, gathering up her courage, and then opened them as she began to sing.

"The world was on fire and no one could save me but you, strange what desire will make foolish people do…I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you. I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you…no, I don't wanna fall in love, no, I don't wanna fall in love with you…what a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way, what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you, what a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way, what a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you, and I don't wanna fall in love, no, I don't wanna fall in love with you…the world was on fire and no one could save me but you, strange what desire will make foolish people do…I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you, and I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you, no, I don't wanna fall in love, no, I don't wanna fall in love with you…with you…"  


Alyse finished the song to applause. Harold came over to speak to her, but she shook her head and mumbled something about being tired and hurried to her dressing room, closing the door behind her. She sat at her table and stared into the mirror. She'd felt Christian's gaze on her the whole time she'd been on the stage, and she shivered as she imagined how angry he must be.

Oh, he was _fuming_. He couldn't even move for a moment, he was that angry. What could have possessed her to write something like that, and then to sing it _onstage_? Did she truly think no one would know what it was about? Christian had heard the whispers amongst people, when no one thought he was listening. It seemed that everyone's favorite topic was why the writer and the star of the play were no longer speaking when they'd been inseparable from day one. _He must have tried to take advantage of her…No, I think she threw herself at him, you know he's still pining for Satine, so he'd have pushed her away…_It irritated him to no end to hear people talking about him. This little…impromptu serenade certainly wouldn't help matters.

Christian waited a few minutes, so he wouldn't look suspicious, and then made his way backstage to Alyse's dressing room. As he approached the door, it struck him for the first time that it used to be Satine's room, and that did nothing to improve his mood. He raised his hand and knocked on the door.

Alyse froze, hands in the midst of pulling pins from her hair, and looked at the reflection of the door in her mirror. She didn't even have to wonder who was on the other side--she knew it had to be Christian. "Just a minute," she called out, her voice sounding nervous to her own ears. She forced her fingers to work again, but apparently she wasn't quick enough, because the door opened, and Christian slipped into the room, shutting it behind him.

He stood, staring at her, and it made her even more nervous than she already was. Her fingers shook a bit as she fumbled with her hair, and finally he spoke.

"What the hell was that?" His voice was tight, lined with an edge of anger.

She met his eyes in the mirror. "I'm so sorry, Christian, no one was…I just was writing, and Harold saw me, and he insisted…no one was supposed to see it…"

Christian shook his head. "Then why were you writing it here? You should know by now it's impossible to keep a secret here!"

Alyse felt her temper flare--it seemed that it was never far from the surface these days. "I'm so sorry," she said again, this time coolly. "I'm not as skilled in the art of repressing feelings as you are, it would seem."

He stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

She gave up on the pins and dropped her hands to her lap. "I'm talking about the fact that not everyone can hold back their emotions all of the time. Not everybody can ignore what they feel like you can. Some of us aren't so good at being stoic and heartless." She sighed, and before she could think, more words were tumbling out of her mouth. "I've never been in love before, so I don't know all of the rules!"

Christian stared at her. His face blanched, and she suddenly wished she could turn back time, if only just a few seconds, and erase what she'd just said. Oh, how she'd taken such care to not let him know she _loved_ him…she'd sung it, but that could easily be written off as overdramatic. But this…

"L-love?" he stuttered, running a hand through his hair uneasily and glancing at her. "You…you love me?"

She squeezed her fingers around the pins and closed her eyes. "Yes, Christian, I love you," she said, her voice ragged, sounding as though she'd just swallowed glass.

Christian shook his head. This wasn't possible. He'd known, of course, that she had romantic feelings for him, but _love_? How on earth had he managed to miss that…to let it happen in the first place? He waited until she looked at him and then began, "That's not…you can't love me…it's just…you don't…I'm not…"He stopped and shook his head again, knowing he was making no sense but helpless to do anything about it. He was simply speechless.

Alyse felt something snap inside of her. "Not everything in this world is about _you_, Christian!" she exploded, standing up. "Some things you just cannot control! Stop acting as if you're the only person who has ever felt any pain in their lives! I know Satine's death was terrible, I know it hurt you deeply. It would hurt anybody, having the love of their life die! But you're not the only person around here with a heart that needs protecting. You focus so much on yourself, you just don't see…" She paused for a breath, and then in a burst of anger, hurled the pins she'd had clenched in her fist across the room. They hit the wall with a clatter, making him jump, but she paid no attention to the noise. "What about _my_ heart, Christian? What about _me_?" She raised a hand to her forehead, the intense energy that had fueled her outburst suddenly draining away, and repeated softly, "What about me?"

His first instinct was to hold her, to beg her forgiveness for causing her all of this pain. But Christian knew that would never work, so he covered the feeling with anger. "Damn it, Alyse, you knew how I felt from the start. There was never any question on that. I never made you any promises!"

She stared at him, blue eyes filled with grief. "Never with words, Christian. Not ever with _words_."

Her statement stole the rest of his words from his mouth, and neither of them said anything for a moment. They both stood at opposite ends of the room, watching each other, wondering what the next move would be. Then suddenly, Alyse covered her face with her hands and giggled. It was one of the most horrific sounds Christian had ever heard--half laugh, half hysterical sob. He watched in dismay as she wrapped her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, still giggling. He started towards her, and she looked at him abruptly.

"No. _No_," she said, suddenly very still. "Go away, Christian, leave me alone." He stopped, but didn't move away, and she said again, "Go away."

"Alyse, really, I think--" he began.

She spun towards him. "_Go away_!" she shouted, her voice catching on the words, yet strong enough to make her point. Christian stared at her a moment longer. She stood still, clearly struggling with her emotions, and her words echoed in his mind, twisting into memories from the past. _Go away, Toulouse, leave me alone…_

It was because he remembered his own words that he was willing to leave her. He turned his back, feeling as though he was deserting her even as he knew it was what she needed. He didn't look at her as he opened the door and closed it behind him as he left.

Alyse's shoulders slumped the moment the door shut. She was limbless, and sobs wracked her body as she slid to the floor, wishing she'd never come to Paris…counting the days until she could leave.

Christian walked away from her dressing room as quickly as he could, trying to make the sound of her voice go away. It was no use. Once again he berated himself for letting this situation get so out of hand. It had been his brilliant idea to befriend her, even knowing that he'd had an attraction to her right from the start. Stupid, _stupid_, he chided himself.

He didn't hear Toulouse calling him until the little man was next to him, grabbing onto his arm. "Christian, what's wrong?"

He didn't stop walking. "Nothing's wrong, Toulouse," he lied.

Toulouse shook his head. "That's not true, Christian. What did you do to her?"

That made him stop. "What did I _do_ to her?" he said, attempting to keep his voice low when all he wanted to do was scream. "I didn't do anything to her!"

"She loves you, Christian, and you're pushing her away," Toulouse said gently.

Christian gaped at him. "What are you…how do you…" He stopped and looked into his friend's eyes. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Toulouse saw more than he ever let on.

"You're the only one that can help her, Christian," Toulouse insisted. "You know how it feels to not be able to be with the one you love, and yet you make Alyse go through the pain when you know you could make it all go away for her. Why won't you help her? You know you love her, Christian!"

Christian shook his head against Toulouse's words, his chest burning with the effort it took to deny the truth. He wouldn't believe it, he wouldn't let it _be_ true. He searched for something to say, and found nothing. So he turned away from Toulouse, ignoring his friend's calls to him, and left the Rouge.

He walked. He walked the streets of Paris, hoping the cool air would clear his mind. He found himself in front of a bookstore, looking up at the sign. He used to come here often, after Satine had died, and immerse himself in the words of others, until he ran out of money and couldn't afford any more books. This was also the only store in Paris that had sold his book. He let out a deep breath and opened the door.

When he came back out, his shaking hands carried a small book. He stopped on the sidewalk, not caring that he was blocking the other pedestrians, and stared at it. His book. The story of his love with Satine.

It was time to read their story. And there was only one place that was right for it.

Christian walked back to the Rouge and slowly made his way to Satine's elephant. This time he didn't climb up a rope to get to her room. He took the stairs, his heart pounding with each step.

__

I'll meet you in the red room, close the door and dim the lights…

He looked around for a moment. Everything looked the same, and yet it was all so different. It took him a moment to realize the difference. Before, it had been full of life--Satine's laughter, her clothes lying discarded over the bed, her whispers of love as he snuck back to his garret late at night. But now, it was cold and empty; just another room with filled with memories. Christian looked down at the book in his hands. He couldn't put this off any longer. He'd written it six years ago, and for six years he'd avoided it. He sat down on a chair and settled in to read.

***

Alyse couldn't say how long she'd sat on the floor of her dressing room, crying, so overcome with anguish that she could barely breathe. She'd been there quite a while, she knew, when she felt someone next to her. Soft arms encircled her, and Alyse sighed as she leaned into the person's embrace, grateful to whomever it was for the comfort. They sat like that for a few moments, and then the person spoke.

"He does love you, you know."

She had a soft, musical voice that soothed Alyse's nerves. Still, she shook her head against the woman's words. "No, he doesn't," she murmured. "I wanted to believe that maybe he did, maybe he could, but I just can't try anymore."

"Don't you give up," the woman said fiercely. "He loves you, believe me. I know he does."

Alyse opened her eyes to look at the woman. The voice was oddly familiar, though she couldn't figure out why. She knew she'd never heard it before. She glanced at the arms holding her…and gasped.

__

She could see right through them. There were the woman's arms--she could feel them around her, see them…but they were transparent, as if they really weren't there, as if they were a vision. She glanced up slowly, looking into the face of the woman sitting with her.

Her eyes were a startling blue, her skin a creamy white. Her hair was flame red, spilling down her back in a long tousle of curls. But what Alyse noticed more than anything was the way the woman_ shimmered_--she was blanketed in a soft white mist that simply glowed. She seemed solid, yet she didn't look it at all. Alyse blinked, trying to clear her head of the fanciful thoughts, but the woman…the _ghost_…was still there, still holding her. "Who…who are you?" Alyse breathed.

The woman smiled. "I think you know the answer to that."

Alyse swallowed hard, trying to ease the dryness in her throat. When she spoke again, her voice came out as a stunned whisper.

"Satine?"

[songs used:

Pretty Girl [The Way]-Sugarcult

Wicked Game-Chris Isaak

Meet Me in the Red Room-Amiel]


	16. Satine

Satine smiled again. "See, I told you that you knew," she teased softly.

Alyse could only stare. Her mind was screaming that this was impossible, but she knew that it was happening--she could feel the woman sitting with her, she was speaking to her…it was no dream. This was _Satine_. "But how…you're dead!" she blurted out, then cringed at her choice of words.

Satine laughed. "Yes, I am," she replied, her blue eyes twinkling.

"Then how are you here? How is this…"

"I'm a ghost, Alyse," she explained, lifting her arm and gesturing with it. Alyse could see straight through it to the walls behind them, as if the arm were merely a curtain over a window.

"But…" Alyse couldn't understand a bit of this. "Why are you here with me? Shouldn't you…if you're going to reach out to anyone, shouldn't it be Christian?"

Satine sighed. "Oh, I do plan on speaking to him soon," she said. "But he has…something he needs to do before I can go to him. And seeing as how I've been watching over you for years, I thought it was time we met."

"Watching over me…" Alyse shook her head. "I haven't passed out again, have I? Is this a dream?"

"No, it's not a dream."

Alyse was silent a moment, letting it all sink into her head. She was sitting with the ghost of the woman who had been the love of Christian's life--the woman who was the whole reason Christian couldn't love _her_. She thought that she should hate Satine…but she couldn't. It certainly wasn't her fault that Christian was locking up his heart and throwing away the key.

"You can't give up on him, Alyse, you just can't," Satine said, and Alyse looked at her, startled. The ghost smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to read your mind, I just can see everything you're thinking. It's a part of being…what I am now."

"I understand," Alyse nodded, and then couldn't think of anything else to say.

They sat quietly for a few minutes, then Satine said, "You don't believe that he loves you."

It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and Alyse nodded. "He _doesn't_ love me," she replied around the lump in her throat.

Satine sighed once again. "You have to understand, Alyse. It's not been easy for him since I died. When he came to Paris, he was so full of life, and innocence, and belief in his ideals…then he met me, and we fell in love. It should have been perfect…" She shook her head. "But it wasn't meant to be. It wasn't meant to _last_, anyways. My fate had been decided long before Christian came into my life. But he's never understood that. To him, my death disproved everything that he'd ever believed in his life, everything he'd ever held dear. For a long while, love was just a painful memory for him."

"I know that," Alyse said softly. "I've known it all along, and still I let myself fall in love with him."

"You had no more control over that than I had over my death," Satine said, and once again Alyse looked at her in surprise.

"What are you talking about?"

The ghost smiled, and she reached out to squeeze Alyse's hand. "From the first time I saw you, reading our story and crying your heart out, I knew that _you_ would be the one to heal Christian. It's taken a while to get you here, but now that you are, I'm not allowing you to let him go without a fight."

Alyse sat, stunned into silence yet again. Suddenly, with a few words from a ghost, her life made sense. She'd known since she was a little girl that she wanted away from her home, away from London, as soon as she had the chance. She'd never known where she wanted to go, but once she'd read Christian's book, it had all clicked for her. She'd always felt a bit as though she'd had a guiding hand in her life from that point on--someone to look out for her, to see that her parents gave her what she needed to hone her talents--something like a…"Guardian angel," she whispered, looking at Satine.

She nodded. "I suppose you could say that. I knew you had to find your way here, to the Rouge, to Christian, and if it required a little nudge every now and again…just say I watched over you." Satine smiled gently. "Somebody had to be a mother to you, after all."

Tears sprang to Alyse's eyes, and she leaned her head against the ghost's shoulder. It was true--she felt more love and comfort from this woman, a stranger to her, than she ever had from her own mother. The fact that Satine had watched over her for years, taking care of her, waiting for the right time to show herself, was a balm to her wounded soul. Still…"I'm sorry that you've wasted your time," she said, sitting back up, unable to meet the Satine's eyes. "But there's no chance for Christian and I. He's made it perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with me."

Satine shook her head fiercely. "You cannot believe him! He wouldn't be pushing you away so desperately if he didn't truly love you. You must believe me, I know these things. I know his heart, and his heart loves _you._"

"No," Alyse denied. "He loves you. He always will."

"There's always room for more than one love, Alyse," Satine chided. "You've been trying to tell him this all along. Why don't you believe it anymore?"

"Because it hurts too much to try anymore," she whispered. "I can't keep…I can't keep holding onto a dream that will never happen."

"So you're going to leave Paris," Satine said, "give up everything you've ever wanted, just because you think he doesn't love you back?"

"It would be better than seeing him every day," Alyse murmured.

Satine took her hand again. "Look at me," she commanded, and Alyse glanced up. "You must believe me when I say he loves you. I know he does. And I know he'll come around. You cannot leave."

"I'm not leaving until the show is over," Alyse pointed out, but Satine shook her head.

"Don't even talk of it! It won't come to that, I promise. You just need to be patient."

Alyse stared at her. "I want to believe you…" she said.

Satine cupped Alyse's chin with cool fingers. "Then believe it. You can believe _me_," she said. "I'm a ghost, I know these things."

Alyse smiled weakly, and Satine pulled her close again. "Come now, you need some rest," she said softly, and Alyse willingly settled back into her embrace. She felt like a child being cuddled by someone who loved her--a wonderful feeling for her. Satine sang softly in her ear, and Alyse felt herself drifting off to sleep.

When she awoke, Satine was gone, having left nothing but a trace of perfume on the air.

***

Christian read the book in one sitting. He only got up once, to light candles when it grew dark. When he was finished, he closed his eyes and hung his head forward. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself to relive all of the emotions he'd felt during his brief time with Satine--the love, the pure joy, the vicious jealousy, the numbing pain. It was why he'd never read the book before--he hadn't known if he could handle it. Now he waited for the ache to set in, the tears to come.

"You disappoint me, Christian," a voice said.

He gave a low chuckle, not looking up. "I don't believe you're the only one," he said bitterly.

He heard a sigh. "You promised me that you would go on, but look at yourself. Still living in the past."

He glanced up sharply, looking around for whomever was speaking to him. It was dark despite the candles, and it took him a moment to locate where the voice was coming from. He blinked when he saw a flood of light across the room. Something about the shape of it was so familiar…it looked like a person, but no person could possibly glow like this…The figure moved towards him, and as it drew closer, he could make out features. The blue eyes…the soft, pale skin…the brilliant red hair…

He scrambled up from his chair, clasping the book to his chest, and backed away from the figure. "No, no, this can't be real, this can't be happening…"

"Christian," Satine said, amusement evident in her tone, "for years you pine for me, and then when I'm here you run away?"

"I…" He couldn't even think. It was her, it was _really_ Satine. He stepped forward, raising a trembling hand and brushing his fingers across her cheek. He gasped as his fingers seemingly touched something solid…yet he could see them go straight through her.

"I'm only a ghost, Christian," she said gently, reaching up to touch his hand.

He felt the familiar softness of her skin on his. "But you feel so real," he breathed, moving closer to her.

Satine shook her head. "I can't stay long, Christian, and I've come here for a reason."

He stared at her. "What? What is it?"

She looked into his eyes for a long moment before she spoke. "You have to let go of the past, Christian."

He was confused. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm _dead_, Christian. I have been for a long while now. I'm tired of being your excuse for not living your life, like you promised that you would."

"Satine…I don't understand…"

"There's a woman that loves you, Christian, a good woman. A woman who is still _alive_, one that could make you so happy, if only you would let her," Satine said, her voice almost pleading.

"Alyse?" Christian whispered, shaking his head. "You've come here to talk to me about Alyse?"

"Yes," Satine replied steadily. "She loves you, Christian, and you love her. You two are destined to be together--it's been that way for years. Not even _you_ can fight destiny."

He was shaking his head before she had finished. "No, that's not true," he said, grabbing Satine's other hand urgently. "That's not true, we were supposed to be together forever…"

"_Supposed_ to be, Christian," she emphasized. "Life doesn't always work out the way we plan. Things change. Your future isn't with me now…it hasn't been for quite some time. When will you accept that?"

Christian was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe Satine was speaking this way to him. "Why are you…don't you love me?" He knew he sounded pitiful, but he couldn't help it. How could she tell him to be with someone else?

"Christian, you don't understand," she continued. "You need to move on. You've been living with the past for so long that I'm afraid you're going to forget how to live completely." She stopped and bit her lip. "Christian, there's something else."

"What is it?" he asked, reaching up to touch her hair. Oh, to just touch it…

But she moved away from him, nothing but a soft whisper of air. "I can't go anywhere until you let me go," she whispered, turning to look at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm caught between worlds, Christian," she cried, throwing up her arms. "I'm a ghost because I can't cross over until _you_ let me go. You've been holding on for seven years. Please, if you love me, let me go!"

He stared at her, aghast. "Let you go? If I love you, how can I possibly let you go?"

Her voice softened at the bewilderment in his tone. "Because you love Alyse now."

Christian shook his head against the words, even as his heart cried for him to listen. "That's not true, Satine, I love _you._"

"Yes," she replied, smiling at him softly. "And I love you. But isn't there room in your heart for both of us?"

He stood still and gazed at her. She was so beautiful…everything he'd dreamt of at night for years, standing right in front of him. Yet even as he watched her, he realized he hadn't dreamt of her in quite a while. He didn't know how or when it had happened, but the nightmares had stopped, the sadness had lifted. He couldn't explain it…

"It's because of Alyse," Satine answered for him, and he jumped. She moved forward until she was standing directly in front of him. "She's going to leave Paris, you know."

His eyes snapped up to her face. "What?"

She nodded. "As soon as the play is finished, she's going to leave."

Christian felt panic bubble up in his throat. "She can't do that! It's always been her dream to be here, to be an actress, to be at the Rouge--"

Satine shrugged her slight shoulders. "She's dreamt of love even longer. It's too hard for her to see you everyday and believe that you don't love her, when that's all she's ever _really_ wanted in her life…just to be loved." She paused to make sure that she had his attention. "You hate to see people hurting, Christian, yet look what you're doing to her. You have the power to change all of this, yet you cling to your old pains because you think it's safer that way. Why do you want to do this to her? To make her feel the way you do?"

Christian shook his head. "Toulouse said the same thing," he muttered.

Satine laughed. "Where do you think he heard it from?"

His eyes widened. "You speak to Toulouse?"

"He sees me instead of the Green Fairy," Satine giggled, and Christian couldn't help but laugh with her. Then she took his hands once more. "Please listen to me, Christian," she implored. "You've got to go on. You've got so much to give. Share yourself with Alyse. Give her your love." She paused, then met his eyes. "Let me go."

The tears came now. "Oh, Satine, please don't ask me…I don't know if I can…"

"You're a strong man, Christian, with a good heart." She pressed a hand to his chest. "She won't hurt you. For _me_, Christian, please."

He raised his hands to her shoulders and leaned forward, brushing his lips over hers. She gave a little sob and wrapped her frail arms around him, oh so briefly, and then pulled away. The light that had been surrounding her had begun to fade, and he tried to hold onto her hand. "Satine, wait…"

"I can't, Christian, I have to go," she said, sounding as if her voice was coming from far away. "You have to let me this time, you have to help me leave. And you have to help Alyse. Please, Christian…."

She was disappearing quickly, and he felt her hand slipping away even as he attempted desperately to hold on. "I love you," he called.

"I love you," he heard her say, and then, so softly that he wasn't sure he heard right, "Remember, Christian--the greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return…"

The light that had been Satine's ghost flickered out, and Christian stumbled backwards until he found the chair he'd been sitting in earlier. He collapsed onto it and held his head in his hands, eyes closed against the sudden bleakness of the room. The conversation spun around and around in his mind. He wouldn't have believed it if not for the fact that he could still feel her skin, the coolness of it against his, the wispy fragility of her figure as she'd moved about the room. Oh, she'd been real. But what to do with what she'd said?

It took a while for his mind to settle, but once it did, he could only think of one thing. He had Satine's blessing. She _wanted_ him to go on, to find love again. Needed him to, in fact. _You two are destined to be together,_ she'd said. Destined to be with Alyse…Christian opened his eyes as bit by bit, all the pieces of his life seemed to come together. Fate had torn Satine from him, but perhaps it was making up for that by giving him a second chance at love. A second chance, with Alyse…all he had to do was take it.

Christian suddenly jumped up, not noticing the book that fell from his lap and onto the floor. The only thought in his mind was to find Alyse, to talk to her. He ran down the stairs of the elephant and across the street. He only hoped he wasn't too late…


	17. Above all Things...Love

Christian made his way slowly up the steps of his building. When he'd left the elephant, he'd been so sure of himself, of what he wanted to say, but now that he was almost there, his courage was disappearing. It had been too long since he'd allowed himself to be completely open with anyone, and his already shaky confidence was dwindling with every step he took.

What if Alyse told him to leave again? What if he bared his soul to her, and she still wanted nothing more to do with him? Of course, considering how he'd pushed her away, he wouldn't blame her if she did that. In fact, it was probably useless for him to even try…

He reached the landing of their floor and looked at her door--it was shut, but a faint light escaped through the cracks. Christian hesitated, then knocked softly. He waited a moment and heard no answer, so he opened the door and stepped into her room.

She had lit a few candles, just enough to shed some light against the darkness of the evening. Even so, he had a hard time finding her. The illumination from a flash of lightning finally showed him that she was sitting in a chair at the window, her head pillowed in her arms and resting on the frame. She was wearing a robe, and he could see that her dress had been dropped on the floor, almost as if she hadn't had the strength to finish undressing. She didn't acknowledge him, though she had to know that he was there. She just kept staring out into the night. The weather was odd--it had been bitingly cold of late, yet tonight it was all thunder and rain. Christian stared at her a moment and realized every word he'd so carefully planned as he'd crossed the street had fled his brain. He went with the first words that came to him.

"I don't want you to leave."

Alyse couldn't be surprised that he knew she was planning on leaving. Nothing could surprise her anymore, she thought, after having spent the afternoon with a ghost. She didn't look at him as she answered. "I can't stay here, Christian."

"But you can't leave, you have a home here, a future at the Rouge--"

She closed her eyes against another flash of lightning. "Christian, I don't want to talk about this right now. I'm very tired. Please, just…let's talk about it later."

Christian nodded to himself. He could understand that. It had been a bad day for her--a bad few weeks, for both of them, really. He told himself to go, to wait to speak with her until tomorrow, but his nerves took over and he found himself saying, "_I'll _leave, then. I'll leave Paris."

Once the words were out, he could have kicked himself. What had made him say that? That wasn't what he'd wanted to say! He opened his mouth to take the words back, but Alyse had finally lifted her head to look at him.

"Don't be absurd, Christian, this is your home, not mine," she said tiredly. "If anyone is leaving, it will be me."

"Alyse--"

"Christian, honestly, please. I don't want to talk about this right now. I just want to be alone. Can you at least do that for me?" Her voice was so empty that he thought it would be cruel of him to push the conversation further. He turned to leave the room--he didn't have far to go, as he hadn't stepped much past the door, but was stopped by a clap of thunder.

__

The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love, and be loved in return…

Christian paused by the door. No, he wasn't going to put this off any longer. He was going to tell her how he felt, he was going to find some way to make this right. Even though he didn't know if he had the words, he was going to do this now. He knew if he didn't, he could lose his nerve completely, and then he would lose _her_ completely. He turned back to Alyse and said again, slowly and clearly, "I don't want you to leave."

She glanced up once more, trying to squelch the irritation that wanted to rise up inside of her. All she wanted was some peace, and he just kept _talking._ "Christian--" she started, then she saw the look on his face. _Determined_ was the only way to describe it, and she closed her mouth as he started walking towards her again.

"No, Alyse, I don't want you to leave. And I don't want to leave, either. It's not…it's not something we're even going to discuss, because it's--it's ridiculous, because I want…I want…" Oh, where were the words when he needed them? He thought desperately. He was standing in front of her now, and she was staring up at him with those terribly sad, red-rimmed eyes. He had to say this to her…he had to find the right way…

Suddenly, it came to him in a flash, with the lightning in the sky outside. "I'm falling even more in love with you, letting go of all I've held onto. I'm standing here until you make me move, I'm hanging by a moment here with you," he sang, reaching down and taking one of her hands.

"Love me, love me, say that you love me," Alyse sang back, her eyes disbelieving. "Fool me, fool me, go on and fool me. Love me, love me, pretend that you love me. Leave me, leave me, just say that you need me."

Christian shook his head and took her other hand, pulling her up until she stood in front of him. "I'm living for the only thing I know, I'm running and not quite sure where to go, and I don't know what I'm diving into, just hanging by a moment here with you. There's nothing else to lose, there's nothing else to find, there's nothing in the world that could change my mind, there is nothing else…"

Alyse watched him for a moment, then finally managed to find her voice. "You know I'd fight for you, but how can I fight someone who isn't even there? I've had the rest of you, now I want the best of you, I don't care if that's not fair, 'cause I want it all, or nothing at all. There's nowhere left to fall, when you reach the bottom, it's now or never. Is it all, or are we just friends? Is this how it ends?"

He tightened his grasp on her hands and pulled her closer to him, so they were touching almost from head to toe. "I'd give up forever to touch you, 'cause I know that you feel me somehow. You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't want to go home right now. And all I can taste is this moment, and all I can breathe is your life. When sooner or later it's over, I just don't want to miss you tonight. And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am."

Alyse stared up at him, fighting off the hope that was bubbling up inside of her. She cleared her throat before she opened her mouth again. "You can't fight the tears that ain't coming, or the moment of truth in your lies, when everything feels like the movies, yeah, you'd bleed just to know you're alive…"

His voice joined in as he twined his fingers with hers. "And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am, I just want you to know who I am…"

Their voices faded into silence, and then Christian was cupping her face in his hands, frantically kissing her everywhere; her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead. "Don't tell me it's too late," he begged, looking into her eyes. "Don't tell me I've ruined everything. Darling, please…Alyse, tell me you still love me. Please tell me you still want me…"

She felt something give inside of her--a flood of warmth coming back into the cold spot that had been her heart. "Want you…how could you doubt it?" she whispered, her hands coming up to grasp his once again.

Christian shook his head, his fingers caressing her skin. "I've been so awful, turning you away, not letting you close, and all I've wanted…all I've wanted all along was you, all I need…oh, Alyse, I need _you,_ I need you so much…"

Alyse gave a trembling smile as she fought, and lost, a war with her tears. They spilled down her cheeks and onto his hands, and he quickly wiped them away.

"Darling, please don't cry," he whispered, kissing her cheeks again, trying to erase the stains left by her tears. "I'll go, if that's what you want…"

"_No_," she said fiercely, her fingers squeezing his hands. "No, I'm not letting you get away, not so easily this time." She looked up into his eyes. So wonderfully deep and green, and the look in them--not something she'd ever seen before, in anyone's eyes, when looking at her. "Tell me, Christian, I need to hear you say it…"

He felt a little pinch of panic in his chest. Could he really say it--the words he hadn't said in years? Could he really lay his heart on the line again? Christian looked down into her face--the sweet, beautiful, familiar face that had been haunting his dreams for weeks. Why had he fought it for so long? This was _right._ With that thought, the panic slid away, and he was able to say the words. "Oh, Alyse," he said softly, pressing his forehead to hers. "I love you."

The tears kept coming--finally, tears of joy. Alyse let go of Christian's hands to slide her arms around him, and he wrapped his around her securely, hands tangling in her hair. Her words were muffled against his chest, but she knew he'd heard them when he pulled her closer. "I love you, Christian."

They stood like that, wrapped in the warmth of each other, for what seemed like ages. Christian kissed the crown of her head, and Alyse looked up at him with a smile as bright as the sun coming out from behind the clouds. It all felt so perfect--it was as if he'd suddenly remembered how to breath after holding his breath for so long. He couldn't stop saying it, now that he'd finally told her. "I love you…" he said again, then laughed at how good it felt. "I love you so much…"

She raised a hand and brushed the back of it over his cheek, rough with a day's worth of stubble. He caught her hand with his and brought it to his lips, kissing her fingers. He met her eyes and lowered his head until their lips met, gently, sweetly.

If she'd thought before that any of their other kisses had been perfect, she'd been wrong. Because this kiss was everything…love and passion and happiness all in one amazing, mind numbing kiss. She felt it into her toes, in every muscle of her body as she melted into his arms. This was him telling her without words what she'd been longing to hear. When they finally broke apart, she was breathless, and all she could do was hold onto him.

Christian buried his face in her hair. For the first time in a long time, he felt completely content. It was an odd feeling--something that he wasn't used to--but he knew he could easily grow accustomed to it, if it meant he could be with Alyse. His heart was so light now, he felt like a new person. "Dance with me," he said impulsively.

His breath tickled her skin, and she giggled. "But there's no music, Christian!"

He shook his head. "I can hear it--can't you? It's right here," he said, taking her hand and pressing it to his chest, so she could feel his heart beating. "_That's_ the music I hear. Close your eyes and listen, and dance with me."

She did as he asked, closing her eyes and concentrating on the thudding of his heart. Their hands were clasped between their bodies, and the sound of their hearts beating blended in with the rain outside until finally she understood what he meant. This was the music of their hearts--nothing else was necessary. She opened her eyes and squeezed his fingers, and he smiled down at her as they began to dance to the music.

Space didn't allow for much movement, just simple turns and lots of closeness, but Christian still managed to spin her around and then pull her into his arms, lowering her back into a dip that had her hair brushing the floor. They both laughed as he pulled her up, and he framed her face in his hands, memorizing the joy in her eyes. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Alyse laughed again. "I think so…but I'm not opposed to hearing it again."

Christian smiled. "Love you," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers and holding her tightly. He never wanted to let her go, ever.

But she slipped out of his arms and moved to the window. "What are you doing?" he said curiously, as she stuck her head out into the rain.

"Don't you love the rain?" she asked, and before he could answer, she was climbing out onto the ledge. She peeked back at him, her hair already wet, and said, "Come on, Christian, live a little!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him outside.

The rain was cold and soaked through his coat quickly, but he couldn't care about that when Alyse was standing in front of him, head tipped back, eyes closed against the downpour, laughing at nothing and everything. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. "You're crazy, did you know that?"

She stared up at him. His long hair was sopping wet, water streaming down his face and dripping off the tip of his nose onto her. She couldn't see his eyes very well, but could feel their loving gaze. She pushed wet hair out of his eyes and said, "For you. I'm crazy for you."

"_L'amour fou,_" Christian said, eyes fixed on her.

Alyse smiled. "_L'amour parfait,_" she replied, pulling his face down to hers. He kissed her deeply, as the rain poured down on them, but they were too caught up in each other to even notice. Only when he felt her shivering did Christian regretfully pull away.

"We'd better go back inside, you don't want to get cold," he said mock sternly, taking her hand and helping her back into the room. He followed her over the sill and stood in front of her. They were both dripping water all over the floor, and she just laughed at the two of them.

"That was fun," she said, running her fingers through her now tangled hair.

"Yes, it was," Christian agreed. "But look at you. You're soaked to the bone. You don't want to get sick again, not with the show tomorrow." He reached down and started pulling off her wet robe.

"Um, Christian…" Alyse began, but he already had the belt undone and was tugging the robe off. All she could do was stand and watch his face as he discovered she was only wearing a corset.

He could feel himself blush up to the roots of his hair. "Well, um…" he said, turning around quickly and hurrying over to her fireplace. She had a small fire going, but it was almost burnt out, so he added a few more logs and tended to the flames for a moment, trying to regain his composure. When the fire had come back to life, he stood up and pulled a chair over in front of it, laying her robe across the back, then taking off his coat and draping it over the seat. Then he turned to look at her. "You…need to dry your hair. Um, come over here, in front of the fire…"

Alyse tried to hold back a giggle as she crossed the room. He clearly had no idea how to handle seeing her like this. Not that she was an expert at this kind of thing, either, but it amused her to see him taking such pains to keep his gaze above her neck. She regarded him seriously once she was in front of the fire. "You should take this off, too," she said, reaching up and unwinding his blue scarf from around his neck. "I don't want you getting sick, either." She dropped it onto the chair with the other wet clothes.

Christian cleared his throat. "Yes, well, you're right…" he said, looking around the room for something to dry her hair with. He grabbed the first thing he could find--a blanket--and stepped closer to her, reaching behind her and rubbing her hair vigorously. She stared up at him as he dried her hair, and when she finally spoke, he could hear laughter in her voice.

"Are you nervous, Christian?"

He finished with her hair and dropped the blanket onto another chair. "No," he said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest and cringing at the wetness of his sweater. "It's just…you're not…you don't have any clothes on…" He felt himself blushing again, and wanted to kick himself. He was too old to be this uncomfortable about these types of things, yet here he was, embarrassed to even speak about it out loud. It was distracting, her being so close, and so very little between them…He realized his eyes had dropped from her face, and he quickly snapped them back up, meeting hers. God, but she was beautiful…Christian forgot all about clothing, or lack thereof, and slipped his arms around her, his lips seeking hers. His blood was burning all of a sudden--he could feel it flowing through his veins, hot like the fire behind them.

His hands were on her waist, holding her possessively, and she reveled in the feeling of belonging to him. His tongue traced the line of her lips, and she gave a little gasp, allowing his tongue to dart in oh so briefly, teasing her before he pulled back and moved on to her neck. His teeth nipped gently at her skin, and she sighed, winding her fingers into his still damp hair. His lips brushed over the swell of her breasts, just the lightest of kisses, then he was kissing her again, mouth warm and soft against hers. All reasonable thought flew out of her mind, and she pulled at his cardigan, fingers fumbling on the buttons. He broke the kiss and looked at her.

Alyse's hands stalled on the sweater as she stared into his eyes. They were dark…dark with desire. She recognized this now, and it sent a little thrill through her. She made her fingers work and said, "This is wet, too. You shouldn't be wearing it." She managed to get the buttons undone and he slipped the cardigan off, depositing it with the rest of their clothes. He pulled her tight against him, kissing her again and again until she was dizzy with the feelings he was awakening inside of her. She couldn't think, she could only rely on her feelings, and they were telling her that this was so right. "Make love to me, Christian," she breathed against his lips.

Christian shook his head quickly, more an instinct than an actual answer. "No, no…that's not what I came here for…"

She kissed him softly. "I know," she said. "You came here to tell me that you love me, and you did. I can't think of anything else that could make tonight more perfect."

He could feel his willpower weakening by the second. His hands trailed across her bare skin, and he had a fleeting thought of lying with her on her bed, loving her as no one else ever had and, if he had his way, no one else ever would. He made one more valiant, yet weak, attempt at telling her no, even though he was finding it difficult to piece his thoughts into coherent sentences. "A gentleman shouldn't…take advantage of…of a situation like this…"

"A gentleman should never tell a lady no," she replied, and smiled at him as he chuckled. "I love you, Christian. I want to be with you…you want to be with me, don't you?" Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

He felt himself give in--not that he'd been fighting hard--and rubbed a thumb across her cheek. "I do…if you're sure…"

Alyse smiled at him again. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she whispered.

Christian nodded and kissed her again. "Turn around," he said gently, and she did as he asked. He scooped her hair over her shoulder and focused his attention on undoing the laces of her corset. He remembered before, when she'd been sick and he'd had to do this for her, how uneasy he'd been--but this was something else entirely. This time, he wasn't fighting his feelings, and felt at ease with his task. His hands were steady, and soon all the laces were untied. He pulled the corset off and she took it from him, letting it drop onto one of the chairs. Like before, all she wore was a slip, and he slid the straps from her shoulders, one at a time, trailing kisses along the smooth skin he exposed. The garment slithered down her body and pooled at her feet, but neither of them paid it any attention as he turned her back around to face him. "So beautiful," he murmured, unable to stop himself from running a hand along her arm.

She'd never been completely naked in front of a man before, and Alyse thought that it should scare her now, to be so totally exposed. But the look on Christian's face wasn't leering, or crude--it was adoring and enraptured, and desire was still mixed in, making her heart start pounding all over again. She reached up and tugged at his suspenders, pulling the them down his arms much as he had her slip. They fell to his waist, and she couldn't resist sliding her hands under his shirt and brushing them along his skin before she pushed the shirt up. He pulled it over his head and dropped it as carelessly as the other clothing. Her hands fumbled at the waistband of his trousers, but she managed to undo them, and they fell to the floor. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside along with his underwear. They looked at each other for a long moment, then he pulled her against him. The feeling of his skin, so warm, so soft over firm muscles, made her shiver with anticipation and nerves. She could have stayed like this forever, held tightly in his arms, safe from anything life could throw at her.

Christian tipped her chin up. "Are you all right?" he asked. He'd felt her tremble and didn't know why, but he refused to let this happen if she wasn't completely comfortable.

"Yes, I'm…I'm just a little bit nervous," she said, suddenly feeling ridiculously shy. "I've never…been with anyone before…"

"Shh," he said, putting a finger to her lips. "I don't care about that."

"But…what if I'm…" Alyse bit her lip and then said in a rush, "I don't know what to do and you've been with other women…"

Christian smiled. "Alyse, I've only been with one woman in my entire life."

She blinked. "What?"

He had to laugh at the surprise on her face. "I don't know, I guess I'm a romantic at heart, but I've never thought that I could _make_ love to someone without being _in_ love with them. And until you, there was only one person that I loved…so only one person I've been with. Really…" He bent his head to kiss her, then said, "we're almost in the same boat…because it's been quite a while for me."

"No one in seven years?" she asked, amazed at what he was telling her.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I think I was waiting for the right woman."

Alyse took a moment to think about this, absently running her fingers through the light sprinkling of hair on his chest. She heard his breath catch, and she looked up at him. "And you think you've found her, then?"

The tips of her fingers were tickling him now, and he couldn't tell if it was on accident or on purpose. "Yes," he said, "I believe so."

"Well," she said, sliding her hands around his neck and pulling his face down to hers, "we shouldn't make you wait any longer, I don't think."

"No," Christian said, but the word was lost in her kiss. He broke away after a minute and said, "Wait here." He brought a few of the candles over by the bed, then pulled the blankets back. He walked to Alyse and surprised her by scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed. She giggled, and he smiled at her before setting her down gently. Then all he could do was stare at her. She was so small, so fragile looking, so trusting…

She held out her hand to him. "I won't break, Christian," she said softly.

He took her hand and allowed her to pull him onto the bed, stretching his body across hers. Her arms came around his back and he held himself up on his elbows as he looked down into her eyes. "Love you," he whispered, but didn't give her a chance to respond before his lips captured hers.

Alyse was helpless to do anything but kiss him back. For someone who'd said he hadn't had a lover in years, he seemed to know exactly the right things to do to make her insides melt. Just the right spot to touch, the right place to kiss…his lips were magic as they trailed down her throat, over the curve of her breasts, to the smooth flatness of her belly. His hands never left her skin as he followed his own path back up her body, taking his time, his tongue teasing and tormenting until her hips moved about restlessly beneath his. She murmured his name as his lips met hers again, and she ran her hands along his body, over his stomach until her shaking fingers slipped between his legs. Christian gasped with surprise, and she pulled her hand away quickly. "No, no, don't stop," he managed, and she hesitantly put her hand back, watching his face as she touched him. His eyes were closed, his lips parted, as her unskilled fingers slid up and down the length of him. He felt like satin over steel, just like the rest of his body, and her touch became steadier as she grew comfortable with the feel of him. Then he turned the tables by dipping a finger inside of her, and she lost track of what she was doing. Her hands fell from him limply as her brain tried to comprehend this new sensation. His touch was soft but insistent, and she could do nothing more than writhe against his hand, finding his mouth with hers and wrapping her arms around him.

Christian raised himself up on his elbows again and gently nudged her legs apart with his knee. His eyes never left Alyse's as he sank into her slowly, carefully. There was a brief flicker of pain, but he was kissing her, focusing her attention on him until the pain was just a memory and all she could feel was him slipping further around her senses, deeper into the core of her, and everything went hazy around the edges. "Okay?" he asked in a ragged voice. All she could manage was a nod as instincts she hadn't known she had took control of her body. He began to move slowly, oh, so slowly, pulling out and then sliding back in, dragging a whimper from her with each movement. She'd never known she could feel like this--so incredibly complete, so shockingly close to someone. Her whole world was a mass of emotions and feelings and colours--she felt as though every nerve in her body was on edge, frayed into a million points of sensation, pricking her all over her body. She was so overwhelmed by it all…and yet she wanted more. Wanted to feel him as absolutely close as he could possibly be, wanted to give herself to him completely. She thought she would fly to pieces if he didn't give her more, thought that she just might die of this tension building inside of her. She hooked her legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper. "More," she breathed, arching her hips up to meet his thrusts.

He very nearly lost himself as her legs slid against him, as she skimmed hot fingertips up and down his back, tracing lines over his hips, her nails scratching him lightly. There was nothing else in the world but her. The smell of her, that seeped into his senses and made his head spin; the way her breath hitched every time their hips met; the breathless way she moaned his name, as if it were the only word she could remember. Her skin was flushed, eyes clouded with pleasure. He was dimly aware that they were both moving quicker now, skin slipping against skin, lips brushing against lips, fingers twining. He could feel every breath she took as if it were his own, could feel the quaking begin deep inside of her as she gave herself up to the swirl of emotion. He knew, because he was there too, right at the edge with her. Her legs tightened around him, her fingers fisted in his hair, he kissed her urgently as their bodies rocked together. And then her whole body stiffened, her head tipped back, and her breathless cry dragged him over as well. His moan mingled with hers as they lost themselves in each other, bodies and souls entwined so deeply now that he knew with no doubt that he would never be the same again.

Neither of them had any strength left to speak of, and before he could simply fall over, Alyse pulled Christian down on top of her, their arms tangling together as he buried his face in her neck. He could feel her heart pounding madly in his ear, and the sound of it lulled him into a dreamlike state. He pressed a kiss to her skin before finally rolling off of her and onto his side, curving his body around hers protectively. "Mine," he whispered, snaking an arm across her stomach. "My beautiful lover."

Alyse found his hand and held it tightly, giving him a smile she knew he couldn't see. She lay with her eyes closed for a few minutes, waiting for her breath to level out and her heartbeat to return to normal. Finally she found enough energy to turn onto her side so that she was facing Christian. She kissed the tip of his nose, and he opened sleepy green eyes. "I think I've figured out an ending for that song," he said softly, brushing a few stray hairs out of her face.

She was confused. "Song? What song?"

He pulled her tight against him and sang into her ear. "Sad eyes follow me, but I still believe there's something left for me. So please come stay with me, 'cause I still believe there's something left for you and me, for you and me…hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking, maybe six feet ain't so far down…please come now, I think I'm falling, I'm holding onto all I think is safe…"

Alyse smiled at him. She knew what he meant now--the song he'd written the day he'd broken down at rehearsal over Satine, the day she'd told him about her family. "I like it," she said softly.

"All it needed was you. All _I_ needed was you," Christian said.

She felt tears spring to her eyes and blinked them back, cupping her hand under his chin and drawing him close for a kiss. "I love you, Christian," she whispered, settling into his embrace.

"I love you, too," he murmured. He pulled the blankets up around them and soon, they were both asleep.

***

Alyse woke the next morning to the feeling of being watched. She opened her eyes slowly and saw Christian lying next to her, propped up on one elbow, gazing at her. He bent his head to kiss her lightly. "Good morning," he said, smiling.

"Good morning," she replied, yawning hugely. She was still so tired, but knew she had to get up. The sun was starting to rise, and it was to be a busy day.

"How are you feeling?"

For a minute she thought he was referring to the opening of the show that night, but quickly realized that he was talking about last night. She grinned and scooted closer to him--which didn't take much doing because her bed was small. "I feel wonderful," she said, winding an arm around his waist and pulling him down on top of her.

"Really?" Christian asked, his lips already at work on her neck, finding again with ease the sensitive spots he'd uncovered last night.

"Umm…yes," Alyse replied, a little breathless now. "Never…better…" It was amazing, the things his hands could do to her--she was already quivering in his arms, and he'd barely begun touching her.

Things were just starting to turn interesting when there was a knock at her door. "Ignore it," Christian advised, mouth clinging to hers as his fingers worked their magic.

"It's probably…just Toulouse…" she managed, "wondering where you are. If I answer it, he'll go away, and then we can…"

He pushed her out of the bed. "Hurry back," he said, and she turned to look at him as she pulled on her robe, which, thankfully, was now dry. He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she was giggling as she opened the door.

Christian could immediately tell, without seeing who it was, that it _wasn't_ Toulouse. Alyse's entire body stiffened, and he could see her hastily tighten her robe and push her hair back out of her face. He didn't dare move, didn't dare try to see who was at the door. Then he heard her speak, her voice shocked and nervous.

"Father. Mother."

--------------------------

[songs used:  
Hanging by a Moment-Lifehouse  
Lovefool-The Cardigans  
All or Nothing-O-Town  
Iris-Goo Goo Dolls  
One Last Breath-Creed]  
  
[translations:  
_l'amour fou_-crazy love  
_l'amour parfait_-perfect love]


End file.
